


Be a Witness

by Gia279



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: All Kinds of Magic, Background Original Characters - Freeform, Demons, Derek at some point puts two and two together and gets fish, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Magic School, Shifters are known, Witches and Familiars, demidemons, eh, every main character is either a witch or shifter, i think? I've never used that tag before, magic college really but y'know whatever, magic is known, magical universities, murders, mysteries kinda, shifter!Derek Hale, stiles tries to be a detective, witch!Stiles Stilinski, yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-05-15 07:48:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 104,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14786411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gia279/pseuds/Gia279
Summary: “Hello, Stiles,” Headmaster Reed said. He had an uncanny memory for students’ names.“Hello, sir,” he replied."When was the last time you summoned?”Stiles shifted in his seat. “This morning.”“Who or what were you contacting?”He shifted around again. “My mother.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!!! I kinda dislike that summary but I gave up. I hope you enjoy chapter one of this! I'll be updating **every other Tuesday** until further notice. Let me know what you think!

_Throwing textbooks is frowned upon. Throwing textbooks is frowned upon,_ Stiles chanted silently. “Okay,” he said, forced calm, “yes, _technically_ you can use a peace spell for the same effect as a contentment potion, but the potion has a longer shelf life, can be used more than once, and costs less both for the buyer and caster. Potions are better for long term anti-anxiety.”

Derek Hale, AKA Bane of Stiles’s Existence, snorted. “Enough applications of a peace spell will eventually eliminate the _need_ for anti-anxiety magic.”

“In theory,” Stiles shot back. “There’s no definitive proof of that yet.”

“Well-”

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Professor Granville cut in. “That’s enough. Whether you believe it will be useful or not,” he flicked a pointed glance at Derek, “I want you all to write a step-by-step instruction sheet for how to make the _pax_ potion, an essay on one of its varied uses, and an interesting fact about the creator.”

“When is it due?” Zach Clark called from the back.

“I’m feeling generous, so we’ll say in a week. Yes, it’s very difficult, I know,” he said over the groans. “But if everyone turns everything in on time, we’ll make the _pax_ potion in class Wednesday.” He was wrapping up class when a knock sounded at the door. He swept his gaze over the class, obviously doing a quick head count. 

“It’s an office aide,” one of the shifters in the left side of the room called. 

Granville nodded and flicked a hand at the door, which opened. “Yes?”

A fifth year stepped in, looking bored. “The heads want a few of your students in the office.”

“Alright. Who?”

The fifth year sighed. “Marlena Alverez, Emory Dodge, Angus Jepson, Tessa Saunders, and Stiles Stilinski.” 

Stiles glanced around at Marlena, brows lifted. Only the Summoners in class had been called out.

Derek made a low, amused sound. 

Stiles gritted his teeth.

“Very well. Go ahead.”

Stiles swept his stuff off his desk and directly into his bag, then trailed after the others. 

“So…what’s going on?” Tessa asked, sidling up to the fifth year. 

“Dunno,” he mumbled. “They sent us all to get you guys.” 

Marlena shot Stiles a confused look; he shook his head. 

Emory rolled his eyes at Tessa. “Did you see who else they were asking for?”

He sighed heavily. “No. They gave us separate lists.”

The office was thankfully in the same building as Potion Making, so they didn’t have to walk for long. Students were crowded in the office and spilling into the hallway, talking among themselves.

“Wait out here,” the fifth year muttered, and slumped into the office like the weight of his task was too much.

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked one of the older students. He saw a Summoner from his grade, another from the year above, and felt nerves skitter over the back of his neck. 

She shook her head. “They haven’t told us. Are you a Summoner?” she asked bluntly.

He nodded. 

She frowned. After a second, she looked over at a girl by her side, eyes round.

“It’s probably just another ‘no summoning ghosts for pranks’ seminar,” Marlena whispered. “It won’t be too bad.”

Stiles looked at the older students, who’d been here five or six years, and didn’t think it was going to be fine. 

They all looked confused and nervous, talking to their familiars in hushed, anxious voices. 

Stiles’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He flicked it on, glad for the distraction. 

Scott had texted. ' _ **Dude, heard they called all of you to the office. Will you be in Runes?**_ '

Stiles glanced at the crowd, then at the time and grimaced. ' _ **Probably not.**_ '

Scott sent back: ' _ **:/ Ok. I’ll get notes for you.**_ '

' _ **Thanks**_ ' 

Another office aide stepped out. “If everyone could please make their way to auditorium number two, we can get started and let you get back to class.” She glanced over her shoulder. “We’ll be sending you in groups. Everyone needs to be there.” 

“Gwen, what’s this about?” an older student asked.

Her lips pursed. “I don’t know, but it’s serious, guys. Please make sure you _all_ go to the auditorium.”

Marlena made a face at Stiles, mouthing “it’s _serious_ ” and making him laugh weakly. 

The auditorium was freezing. Stiles sat with the Summoners in his grade, since he was most familiar with them. He tucked his hands under his arms, shivering. 

“This is inconvenient,” Tessa grumbled, flopping next to Stiles. “I’m supposed to be in Tracking 2, we’ve got a practical lesson today.” She flexed her fingers against her leg. 

Emory leaned forward. “Wanna bet a first year summoned a ghost and didn’t send it back or something?”

“Nobody wants to make bets, Em,” Gus hissed. 

“Yeah,” a first year in the row in front of them snapped. “What if it was one of you?” 

“We all know better,” Emory snorted.

Another group filed in, irritable seventh years and their familiars shuffling to their own row. 

After everyone was seated, which took about twenty minutes, the heads of the school came in. Headmaster Elias Reed was a large man, tough-looking with deep red hair and a scruffy beard. He was an accomplished conjurer and seemed ageless—like most older witches. 

Beside him, Headmistress Astrid Brack looked petite and unassuming, mostly because she was wearing a sensible jacket that covered her whipcord tough arms. She was a wolf shifter, she took no bullshit from anyone, and of the two, Stiles was sure she’d win in a fight. 

“Hello,” Headmaster Reed greeted. His voice was surprising every time, smooth and clear. He looked like the sort to growl. “We’ve had an incident and we need to get to the bottom of it immediately.” 

Headmistress Brack scowled briefly at him, then faced the students. “A demi-demon was released on campus. It was not contained, there were no wards or restrictions on its movements. The origins—that is, the portal it came through—are not known.”

Reed picked up from there. “We all know that you’ve come here to test your abilities safely; it isn’t the summoning that we’re concerned about. Whoever did this did it unsafely. The demi-demon attacked a first year shifter-” he was cut off by their gasps.

Stiles shared a look with Marlena, horrified, then leaned forward. 

“She’s alright, she only has minor burns, but it could have been much, much worse. I’m sure you’re all aware of what a loose demi-demon under no contract bounds can do. Now, if this was an accident, or a prank—please remember, we’re only interested in making sure that no one gets hurt again.” He didn’t say what would happen if it was on purpose.

Stiles swallowed and looked around. Summoning was perfectly doable by witches who _weren’t_ Summoners, just more involved. 

“Did you catch it?” someone asked.

“Yes. The demi-demon has been sent back to its own realm.” He looked at Headmistress Brack. “We will be doing one-on-one interviews with all of you. Don’t be afraid to get in trouble. We need to brush up on your warding if this was an accident.” He waited a moment, obviously hoping someone would own up.

“Sir,” Marlena called out suddenly, making Stiles flinch. “What if it wasn’t a Summoner?”

The look that flitted over Reed’s face—mingled fear and anger—let Stiles know that they were afraid of that. There were too many students and staff capable of summoning a demi-demon to do interviews with all of them. 

“We’ll be calling you alphabetically,” Brack announced, disregarding Marlena’s question. “No one is to leave until after you’ve all been questioned.”

They each called an A last name and Stiles, realizing how long this was going to take—there were give or take twenty Summoners in each of the seven grades—took out his phone. 

Around him, people were doing the same, texting their friends and updating them. Stiles texted Scott, then Allison about the demi-demon. Their responses were typical; Scott was concerned about the shifter, and Allison wanted to know if they knew who’d done it.

“Alverez, Marlena,” an office aide called. “Headmistress Brack is in the room to the left.” 

They were keeping everyone who’d already been interviewed on the far end of the auditorium, sequestered away from the rest of them but unable to leave. They looked pissed. Stiles could understand that. 

Marlena sighed and stood, shuffling out of their row.

“ _Dude_ ,” Emory gasped. “Who would let out a demi-demon?”

“Maybe someone who doesn’t know how to ward right?” Stiles tried to think of a time when he couldn’t control what got through a portal he’d created. Warding was the best way to make sure accidents didn't happen, but Summoners were supposed to be good at keeping…things…where they were supposed to be. Stiles started tracing warding symbols on his leg as anxiety made him twitchy. 

“That seems unlikely,” Gus muttered. “I never let anything all the way out, even on accident, when I was a kid.” 

Silently, Stiles agreed. 

It took a long while to get to the S names. Stiles was bored out of his mind, exhausted, and hungry. Marlena texted him a mile long list of complaints but never actually said what they’d asked her. Stiles glanced over at her and she shot an exaggerated frown at him, making him smile. By the time he was called back, he’d missed Runes, Gen Spells, and most of phys ed.

“Hello, Stiles,” Reed said. He had an uncanny memory for students’ names. 

“Hello, sir,” he replied. He glanced uneasily at the desk and chairs, then sat across from Reed. He felt a shiver of magic and looked up. A shifting, translucent cloud of sparkling gold mist hovered over him. 

“It’s for detecting lies,” Reed explained. “A fairly complicated spell that should help get a picture here.”

Stiles bounced his leg up and down. “Okay. You—you don’t think it was an accident, right?” he blurted. 

Reed glanced above Stiles’s head. “No, I believe it was on purpose. Please answer my questions honestly. When was the last time you summoned?”

Stiles shifted in his seat. “This morning.” He flicked his gaze up. The mist stayed gold.

“Who or what were you contacting?”

He shifted around again. “My mother,” he mumbled. “The afterlife.” The mist was still gold. 

Reed smiled reassuringly and kept going, asking gentle probing questions about Stiles’s summoning habits—when the last time he contacted someone other than his mother was, when did he last speak to a demi-demon, a full demon, had he noticed anything odd in his portals. It took another fifteen minutes to finish and then Stiles was sent back to the auditorium with the others.

“Did we just miss an entire _day_ of classes for this?” Marlena muttered. “I’m starving.”

“Not the entire day,” Tessa said, checking her watch. “I can still make my textiles class.” 

Marlena rolled her eyes. “Well, I’ve missed Graphic Design and Runes, obviously, not to mention lunch and phys ed.”

Tessa shrugged. “Do you think anyone here did it?”

“No.” Stiles checked his phone again. Allison and Scott were texting him intermittently when they could, but he wanted to talk to them in person. “I think it was a dumb prank, but I don’t think any of us did it.” He bit at the inside of his cheek. “Do you think they’ll restrict summonings?”

Marlena shook her head. “No way. How could they do that? Bind our powers?” Somehow, most of the auditorium heard that and nervous chatter swept through the room. “They aren’t going to bind our powers,” she scoffed. “They’d lose a lot of students that way.”

Stiles only had time for the last five minutes of his Infused Magic class; his last class of the day was Summoning, but it was cancelled in light of the day’s events. No one had said anything about binding anyone’s powers, which was probably because summoning was their innate affinity. It would mean completely binding all of their magical abilities. 

Scott and Allison were in Scott and Stiles’s shared room when he got there. Scott had a mound of food sitting on Stiles’s desk. 

“You missed lunch,” he explained. “Figured you’d be hungry.”

“Thanks, man.” Stiles dropped his bag on his bed. “That was a huge waste of time.” He rubbed his face.

“Why?” Allison looked between him and Scott. “You guys _can_ open portals. Makes sense that you could have done this.” 

Stiles reminded himself that Allison came from a long line of Trackers and nature sensitives; she wasn’t used to Summoners. “Yeah,” he agreed after a second. “Except…we wouldn’t. It’d be like a Tracker using their affinity to stalk someone. It’s just not done.” He shrugged. “All of us passed their lie detector test.”

“Oooh, how’d they do that?”

Stiles described the mist as well as he could, and told them the questions he was asked. 

Allison looked puzzled. “So—explain it to me. How would a demi-demon get out?”

Stiles chewed the inside of his cheek. “If someone cast a circle, trying to summon, and didn’t draw the wards right, it would have a wide open door to pass through.” 

“So…” Her face twisted. “I’ve never seen you cast a circle to summon.”

Stiles picked at the chips on his tray. “We don’t need to cast circles. We can just open portals. Small enough that nothing can get through, or bigger, but-” He waved a hand. “We ward instinctively. The portals are safe.” 

“So why do you need to take a warding class?” She moved to sit at Scott’s desk.

Stiles grimaced. It was hard to explain things that came instinctively. “It’s like…” He waved both hands. “Portal wards just come to us. Not all wards—just portal safeguards.”

“So, what—you think someone else was practicing summoning and let it out?”

Stiles looked at his tray. “A poltergeist could have been an accident. A demi-demon…well, the afterlife is…closer.” He picked up a chip and crunched into it.

“Huh.” She looked bothered. “So the best guess _is_ that this was on purpose.”

“Yeah.” He applied himself to his food. “So now,” he said between bites, “I’m behind in everything, and everyone probably thinks one of us did it.” He scowled. Summoners were generally considered weird, even among other witches. Being able to contact the dead with ease, not to mention the other dimensions, tended to give people a reputation and, unfortunately, a far-off expression that only alienated them further. 

“They’ll get over it,” Allison said. “We got your notes and homework, so you didn’t miss too much.” She patted her leg until Lemmy, Scott and Stiles’s cat, jumped into her lap for cuddles. “We didn’t do much during Infused Magic; we were doing a practical lesson. Just practice tomorrow and you should be fine.” 

Stiles scowled. Infused magic was a _fun_ class, especially the practical lessons. His current project was his favorite travel cup. It was the perfect size and shape, but it didn’t retain heat. His coffee was always lukewarm by his first class. 

Scott nudged him. “Finish eating, then we’ll help you with what you missed. You still have a couple hours before work.” 

“Right. Thanks.” Stiles took a bite of his sandwich. “At least tomorrow’s Thursday,” he observed, brightening. 

Scott rolled his eyes, clearly fighting a grin. 

He could roll his eyes all he wanted. Thursdays were good days. He and Scott only had three classes, Allison had four, and, once homework that couldn’t wait for the weekend was done, they had all afternoon and night for free time. 

“Phys ed was fun,” Scott said with a grin. “Hale looked _bored_ without anyone there to argue with about the proper way to position their feet.”

Stiles sniffed. “Good. Maybe he’ll leave me alone on Friday.” 

Allison shook her head. “Derek’s nice, I don’t know what you guys are always complaining about.”

Stiles’s brows furrowed. “How do you know?”

She lifted hers right back at him. “Um, Cora?”

“Your familiar? But she’s a year ahead of him?”

“That’s Derek’s sister,” she said dryly. “I think they’ve met.”

Stiles gaped at her. “Oh my god. You’re tainted.” 

She threw a pen at him. “And you’re rude. You’re just mad because his grades are as good as yours.”

“No, I am not!” Then, because it still bothered him, “He can’t even _do_ magic! How is he passing Gen spells?”

“He can’t do magic _yet_ ,” Allison corrected. “It’s easier if they understand how to use it before the bond. Cora already understood Tracking really well, so when the bond was created, she didn’t have trouble using my affinity.”

Stiles chewed thoughtfully. He wanted to meet the witch Derek Hale bonded with. It was only polite to extend his condolences. 

 

Stiles worked overnight in the library, from seven to three. While in a normal college the library probably closed at some point, San Francisco’s College for Further Magics had classes of all kinds at all hours, so the library had to be equally accessible for _all_ students. 

Stiles liked it. He didn’t have too much to do for the night crowd, so he could get work done, then do whatever he wanted between his duties—within reason, of course. 

“Twice in a day? What’s the occasion?” Claudia’s voice was amused and fond. When she saw Stiles’s face, she sobered. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “There was an incident here and I was wondering if you’d heard anything.” The portal was small, only a square big enough to show Claudia’s face in the corner of the window Stiles was using. Mirrors were better, but he’d forgotten to bring one. He moved his shoulders. Any glass would do, but…mirrors were better. A portal that size wasn’t big enough to release human energy, let alone Claudia’s. 

She shook her head. “No. Most people over here know to avoid the schools.” 

Stiles nodded. It wasn’t like the heads of the school would mistake a poltergeist for a demi-demon anyway, but…but they couldn’t see them. Not without preparation.

“What happened?”

Stiles told her about the demi-demon and the interrogation, finally letting go of the frustration he’d been holding back all day. “And it’s not fair that they took us all out of class in the beginning of the day, then questioned us, when they _obviously_ aren’t going to do that to anyone else. _Anyone_ with the right books and tools can open a portal.” 

Claudia sighed. “Yes, they could. Lucky us, people immediately assume.” She lifted a hand, smiled wryly, and let it drop.

Stiles grimaced. “Sorry.” He meant for not letting her through.

“I know you’re at work. Don’t worry. Look, they will always blame Summoners first,” she said briskly. “Always, for anything remotely relating to us. It’s the easiest conclusion to draw. We aren’t rare enough to be revered, like Healers, or common enough to be ignored, and we contact the dead.” She waved a hand at herself. “The dead scare people. Mostly because we remind people they’ll join us eventually.” For a moment, she looked ghoulish, skin graying, eyes turning to hollows. She snapped back a second later and looked guilty. 

Stiles sighed. “You’d think by _this_ day and age they’d be used to us.” He hated that. _Us._ Like they were something other. 

“Maybe one day. But let me go. I’ll ask around. Find out if anyone has heard or seen anything. Maybe I missed some news.” She turned her head, following something on her end. 

“Thanks, Mom.”

She looked back distractedly. “Of course, honey. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He let the portal close, leaving only the glass. 

The bell dinged at the circulation desk. He sighed and went to help. The shift passed quickly enough; he got a head start on his work for Potions, because there was always a lull right around midnight. 

If, around two in the morning, he slipped away from the desk to look into demi-demon contracts, well, there was no one except Tyler Birke to tattle. He was frantically writing an essay and wasn’t paying attention to Stiles. 

The thing about growing up able to rip open portals to other dimensions and planes was that it made it easy to understand the different beings in those other dimensions. The closest and easiest to access was the afterlife. After that were the places demons, demi-demons, and imps resided. Most people heard _demon_ and thought _evil_. Stiles heard _demon_ and thought _powerful_.

The two usually coincided, but not always. Demons had other things to do, more important things, than screw around on earth. Though, Stiles had learned, they were more than willing to indulge curious, respectful children. It was a myth that demons wanted to wreak havoc here. 

Stiles found demi-demons to be more chaotic. Chatty, but chaotic. 

All the books detailing contracts were incredibly old. The language used was thorough, explicitly outlining what they were there to do and when they would go back. The magic making the contracts binding made the books heavy, still lingering even after decades. 

“Useless,” Stiles muttered, shoving the book back on the correct shelf. There was nothing to learn from old contracts. Which he’d already known, but…he was just restless. 

Terry showed up at three to let Stiles go. “Long night?”

Stiles glowered. “Not really.” He stretched until his back popped.

“Did you hear about that demon thing?” Terry asked, dropping his bag in the chair behind the desk. 

“Demi-demon,” he corrected automatically. “Yeah, I heard.” 

Terry bobbed his head. “Do you know who did it?”

“Nope. Have a good shift, Terry.” Stiles left before he could ask more questions. The library was in the building furthest from the dorms—naturally—but Stiles had forgotten to drive. He almost always did. The sun wouldn’t rise for another three hours, so it was still dark as he was leaving. 

The school grounds were mostly protected from people who weren’t supposed to be there, but…but.

Stiles traced sigils against the side of his leg as he walked, going over the ones he’d learned last year first. He had to concentrate to make sure he didn’t put any magic behind them; he’d end up setting his pants on fire. He had headphones in his pocket, but he was worried someone would come up behind him if he wasn’t paying attention. 

There was a soothing quality to the silence of early morning, even if the possibility of being jumped in the dark made Stiles’s anxiety ratchet up so high he felt his eyes straining. 

Behind him, something scuffed gently against the sidewalk. 

Stiles tried to keep his shoulders loose, fingers tracing wards frantically against his leg. He strained his ears, hoping to catch another sound to tell him how close whatever was behind him was.

For a minute, there was nothing. And then—a tiny huff of breath.

Stiles spun on his next step, hand lifted and fingers spread wide, muttering, “ _Ignis_ ,” under his breath. Brilliant orange flames sprang to life around him, a protective circle that lashed out at whoever had stepped too close to him. That was good, because he’d inadvertently blinded himself. 

“Damn it, Stilinski,” an infuriatingly familiar voice sighed. 

Stiles lowered his hand slightly; the flames dimmed a bit. 

Derek glowered at him. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Trying to get home!” Stiles gasped. “What is _wrong_ with you? Sneaking around at three in the morning, giving people heart attacks!” 

“I was not _sneaking_! I was jogging. I didn’t notice you.” 

“Bullshit. You’re such an asshole.” Stiles rubbed the heel of his free hand against his pounding heart.

Derek gave him a strange look. “Why are you out?”

“I was _working_.” Stiles gave up and let the flames die out. As annoying as he was, Derek (probably) wasn’t going to hurt him. 

Derek shuffled his feet. “Right.” His brows drew together. “I _wasn’t_ sneaking.”

Stiles scoffed. “Okay.” He turned away. “Have a good _jog_ , Hale.” He heard Derek make some noise behind him, but he didn’t turn around.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I would post every other **Tuesday** but I mean...it's almost Tuesday, right? Right. I'm dying here. I just want to share the whole thing but I have to wait until it's all done before I do that. *hysterical sobbing* I waited so long. Anyway, unbeta'd, just read over by me, hope it's good! Let me know what you think!

Scott changed his shirt three times. He settled on a blue shirt that looked the same as the first three shirts, except that it was blue. 

Stiles lifted Lemmy to stare into his eyes. “Scott’s going crazy. When we change rooms next year, you have to come with me so you don’t catch his weird.” 

Scott threw a discarded shirt at him.

Lemmy grumbled and squirmed free, curling up on Stiles’s pillow.

“Scott, why does it _matter_ what you _wear?_ ” 

“Because Kira will be there, and I want to look nice.”

Stiles grumbled. “She’s not going to care what you wear. You guys are registering for pre-bonding at the end of the semester, I can tell.” 

Scott hissed at him. “Shh, stop. We might not. Don’t jinx us.”

Stiles rolled onto his stomach. The school hosted mixers for first and second years once a month—separately, of course. It was to encourage shifters and witches to mingle, get to know each other, and register for pre-bonding as early as they could. The longer they’d had to prepare for the witch-familiar bond, the better it went when they were bonded. 

Stiles hadn’t met anyone that he could imagine sharing his magic with. That was…worrying. Bonding happened in third year. Stiles wasn’t sure what happened if a witch had no familiar to bond with. Probably they transferred to a witch-only university. 

Stiles looked at Scott and sighed. He’d have to make some kind of effort if he wanted to find a familiar. The trouble was, the witch had to _trust_ the shifter they bonded with. 

Cora and Allison, for example, were close friends. Laura Hale and her witch, Galen Krauss, had been friends their entire lives. They were sixth years, and they worked _amazingly_ well together. 

Stiles didn’t really trust anyone, except Scott and Allison.

“You’ll decide on someone,” Scott said. “Are you ready?”

Stiles groaned and rolled to his feet. 

Professors Findlay and Blake and Dr. Deaton were chaperoning. While in the eyes of human law, they were all legal adults, in the witch and shifter communities, twenties were still extremely young, so the older ones tended to hover. 

“Oh my god,” Stiles muttered. It was no worse than last month, but…it was just as _bad_ as last month. Music, tables, couches, low lights, food and drinks, all crammed together to make it look like a middle school dance. 

Scott spotted Kira Yukimura, a fox shifter, by the refreshments table and abandoned Stiles just inside the door.

Stiles scoffed and shook his head. The bright side was, because they were all twenty-two or older, and because the mixer was held in the same building as the dorms, they served light alcohol at these things.

“Hey.” Marlena scooted over at the makeshift bar so he had room. “So. How uncomfortable do these things make you, on a scale of one to slow dancing with your cousin at your great-aunt’s wedding?”

Stiles snorted. “Oh, definitely that one.” He looked over his shoulder at the rest of the room, which was slowly filling up with his classmates. “I just…” He waved his hands. 

Marlena nodded. “I get it.” She sighed and drained her beer. “Okay. I’m going to make awkward, forced small talk. Wish me luck.”

Stiles laughed, turning to watch her slip her way through the crowd. Scott and Kira had found a table and were talking, heads bent together. 

Lydia Martin was at a nearby table, writing on a napkin. Beside her was Jackson Whittemore. From the sparks flying from Lydia’s pen, he guessed she was doing mathamancy, one of her best subjects. She was a Transmutator, but she preferred mathamancy. She said there was logic behind it that you just didn’t find in transmutation. 

Someone leaned against the bar beside him suddenly. Isaac Lahey smiled at him, forgetting to order his drink. 

Stiles smiled back. He wouldn’t mind Isaac as a familiar, he guessed, except—well, except he felt like he’d tear the poor guy to shreds on accident. He was…basically a puppy, which was a terrible thing to think. He was a wolf shifter and incredibly earnest; Stiles didn’t think he’d be able to handle a Summoner. 

“Hi, Stiles. Come sit with us! We were talking about runes,” he said with a bright smile, tinged with nerves. 

Stiles felt sure they most certainly _hadn’t_ been talking about runes, had probably been talking about the demi-demon thing, but he appreciated the effort. He sighed. “Alright.”

Isaac beamed.

The music was a little quieter by the table Isaac led him to. The occupants were mixed shifters and witches; Zach Clark nodded at Stiles when he approached. When Isaac sat down, Stiles saw Derek Hale sitting between Marlena and Zach. 

Zach immediately leaned toward Isaac and started talking. 

Derek shot him a mocking look of surprise. “Oh, so you do know how to find these things. I thought you got lost every month.”

Stiles scoffed. “Because you’re such a social butterfly? You sit with the same people every month. Unless you’ve found someone to pre-bond with?”

Marlena snickered behind her hand. 

“I didn’t think you actually deigned to speak to shifters,” Derek said lightly. “Can’t blame me for being surprised.”

Stiles blinked. He didn’t even know what to make of that. He spoke to shifters plenty. In fact, he regularly shouted at Derek in class. 

“I’m-” Isaac began, looking alarmed.

“It’s fine,” Derek interrupted. “Stilinski probably won’t stick around long. He doesn’t bother speaking to-”

“Please don’t fight,” Isaac breathed.

Stiles forced himself to ease back in his seat. “Alight.” He bumped his elbow lightly with Isaac’s and shot him an easy grin. “At least I make these things exciting, huh?”

Isaac smiled, relaxing enough to turn back to Zach.

Derek was frowning at him when he looked up.

By the time Isaac and Zach wandered away to get fresh drinks, Derek and Stiles were arguing about the merits of rune casting. 

“It’s a perfectly valid divination practice,” Stiles snapped. 

“It’s outdated. That entire class could be dedicated to runic charms and amulets, but they spend most of their time teaching us how to see vague possibilities about our future in them. It’s a waste of time.” 

Stiles scoffed. “Oh, nice. So are Seers a waste of time to you, too?”

Derek scowled. “That is _not_ what I said! I _said_ that rune casting is outdated, not that all divination is a waste of time. Runes can do more if we were given proper instruction, but everyone’s so obsessed with predicting the future that-”

“Stop!” Marlena looked between them wildly. “Okay. If either of you says anything else about runes, I’m going to _scream_.” She had a new drink in her hand; Stiles was sure that was her fourth, which was worrisome, as they were all only allowed three each.

“Fine.”

She nodded. “Good. Stiles, oh my god, I meant to tell you—that show, um, _Two Weeks Dead_? Or something? They’re going to start airing in a month!”

“What’s that?” Derek asked warily.

Marlena, who was already in love with the show just from what she’d been able to find online, leaned forward eagerly. “Okay, so—basically, they’re cops, right? And Summoners! They’re going to call forward victims’ ghosts to solve murders.” She went on, describing the show in greater detail, and Stiles…

Stiles could definitely see those two getting along—Marlena was extremely smart and Derek was apparently intelligent enough to get high grades—enough to decide to pre-bond, maybe more. He stood up, feeling awkward and ready to get his second drink—

“Well, they can’t just summon _dead people_ to convict someone,” Derek said.

Stiles sat back down abruptly. “Why not?”

He shot him an annoyed look. “Because not everyone can see dead people, so how could the testimony of a ghost hold merit? And ghosts—especially the recently deceased—are usually traumatized by their deaths. How can they be expected to correctly identify their killer?”

“First of all, there are plenty of ways for people to see ghosts, not just Summoners—sigils, potions, crystals—and second, I’m sure most of them would want to tell anyone willing to listen who killed them.” 

“No, they’d want vengeance,” Derek corrected. “Ghosts want vengeance, even if it’s misplaced. People should be more discerning about summoning.” 

“Oh, _really_?” Stiles felt anger flush his face. “So solving murders isn’t a good enough reason?”

“No,” Derek said flatly. “Police have been solving murders for centuries without the help of overeager mediums.”

 _Mediums_. Stiles clenched his fists. “Oh, really? Well, I’ll have _you_ know that the amount of cold cases has _significantly_ decreased since the inclusion of Summoner services in crime investigations, asshole.”

“Guys,” Marlena sighed. 

“And for your information, people don’t always summon just to solve crimes. They want closure and talking to the deceased can help do that.” 

“Unless it just lets them cling to someone who they need to let go of. Then it isn’t helping, it’s just keeping them from moving on.”

Stiles flinched. “I-”

“Way out of line, Hale,” Marlena snapped instantly. “ _Way._ ” She stood and grabbed Stiles’s arm, jerking him to his feet. She marched them away. “What a _dick!_ ”

Stiles glanced over his shoulder.

Derek looked stunned and pale, not like someone who felt they’d just won an argument.

“I don’t think he knew,” Stiles muttered grudgingly. 

“Well, people should _think_ before they say stuff like that!” Marlena seethed. “That’s an incredibly rude, insensitive thing to say and I think I am _done_ with people, thank you.” That last bit was directed at Professor Blake, who’d wandered over to see why she was yelling.

“Is everything alright?” she asked timidly.

“Yes, ma’am,” Stiles said quickly. “We’re fine.”

She looked like she didn’t believe him, but she nodded anyway and moved on.

Stiles sighed. “You’re right, he was rude. Let’s go get some pretzels.” He didn’t want to hear her start up again, even if he was still annoyed. He didn’t think he was avoiding _letting go_ , just because he wanted to have a conversation with his mother now and then. He could have responded to Derek, too, if he hadn’t been so surprised. 

Family members weren’t allowed to contact each other for the first few months after death. It gave people time to grieve. That was why lawyers and trained professionals contacted the dead for interrogative purposes. 

Stiles scooped up a handful of pretzels and started crunching on them. 

Marlena was angrily chewing a Twizzler next to him, glaring around the room like she was preparing to fight someone else. “Hey.” She slapped Stiles’s arm. “Did you see that?”

Stiles turned to follow her gaze. “See what?” Then he shuddered, sensing something. “Oh.” He looked over the crowd, trying to figure out what he’d sensed. 

“By Emory,” Marlena muttered. “Come on.”

Tessa intercepted them on the way. “Did you see that?” she hissed, plucking at Marlena’s sleeve. 

Gus was talking to Emory when they got there. “They saw it, too, I bet,” he said. He looked expectantly at Tessa.

She nodded. “Did you see what it was?”

“No, but Em insists it was nothing.” Gus looked troubled and irritated, arms folded.

Stiles peered into Emory’s face. “Did you drink at all?”

“I had a beer earlier,” he scoffed. “What? You think one beer is going to make my magic go haywire?” He tried to step around them.

Marlena lifted her hand and drew midair; the sigil glowed green with magic, the air sizzling in its wake. 

Emory flinched, and the thing clinging to his back flew off.

It was a poltergeist; its eyes were red like it’d spent the last decade weeping bitterly. It looked less human than regular ghosts tended to, flowing, cold, and unpleasant as it sneered at them. 

Emory stumbled, looking woozy; Gus grabbed his arm and held him upright.

Stiles felt like puking. The poltergeist had been trying to possess Emory, had nearly succeeded. 

“Does anyone have a bowl or—something?” Marlena asked awkwardly.

“Don’t bother,” Stiles muttered. He nodded at the window over Emory’s shoulder. 

“Are you sure?” Her dark eyes met his seriously. “You don’t have to. Tess can do it.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure. I might need Tessa’s help, though. Just make sure to shove it through.” Stiles slipped around Emory and the poltergeist, shuddering when its energy gripped at his shoulders like static cling. None of the others in the room had noticed—some of the Seers had moved away as if they’d sensed something, but only Summoners could see ghosts without preparation.

Of course, they saw when it flipped a table and hurled a chair so hard it shattered against the wall.

He heard Marlena loudly explaining about the poltergeist, trying to calm everyone down, but he tried to drown it out. The window was just big enough, he estimated…or hoped. He took a breath, willing his hands to stop shaking, and reached out. It was a difficult thing to describe; he sensed the tiniest _give_ in the fabric of the universe and _ripped_. A portal opened, small but widening.

Behind him, Tessa reached forward and helped, adding her power in with his to widen the portal. All along the edges of the glass, wards glowed, half orange, half blue. 

“Thanks,” Stiles gasped, stepping aside to let Marlena through.

Her gaze was locked on the poltergeist, dragging it with infinitesimal flicks of her fingers. 

It wailed loudly through the veil—which Stiles only knew because the others shrieked in panic. Gus stepped up behind it, sigils glowing on his palms, and shoved. He had to put his whole body into it, face screwing up, to get it in, but it went through.

Stiles closed the portal like pulling a zipper. “Can—can you-?”

“Go,” Marlena said firmly. She swept her dark hair behind her shoulders and straightened up. “We’ll talk to the professors.” She, Tessa, and Gus ranged themselves shoulder to shoulder, blocking him from view.

Stiles fled. He didn’t stop running until he got outside, falling back against the bricks and breathing heavily. He just needed some air. He always, well, _forgot_ was the wrong word. Always silently and unfailingly denied the fact that Summoners were the most susceptible beings to possession. Something about them made their bodies perfect vessels to…things, should they want a body while on Earth. Most didn’t, but those that did…didn’t always ask before taking control.

Stiles traced wards on his leg until he could breathe without shaking. He relaxed, then stiffened when he felt eyes on him. He looked around and spotted Derek watching him from the door he’d bolted through. “What?” He’d meant to snap the word, but he just sounded exhausted. 

Derek studied him for a moment more. “Professor Findlay wants everyone inside so they can find out what happened.”

Stiles’s shoulders slumped. “It was just a poltergeist,” he sighed. He pushed off the wall he’d all but collapsed against. “Okay,” he said, more clearly. He started to go around him, freezing when Derek lifted a hand.

“I’m sorry—about before. Your friend was right. I was out of line. I should’ve learned more about how summoning works before running my mouth.”

Stiles gaped at him.

He stared back calmly.

It was moments like those that reminded Stiles that Derek had come to school later than them—he was in Stiles’s grade, but probably two or three years older, which was why his younger sister was a year ahead of him. Uncommon, but not unheard of. After all, twenty-five was still incredibly young, in shifter years. 

“I—thanks. Okay.” He nodded and closed his mouth. 

Derek nodded, too, holding the door open to let Stiles pass.

The professors were understandably freaked about the poltergeist. They called the one Summoner they had on year round staff, Professor Viviane Eason. She was _not_ happy that her second year students had banished it without help and were being treated like suspects. Professor Eason was Stiles’s favorite. 

“No, no, no, if they’d summoned a poltergeist here, you’d have noticed,” she snapped. She pointed at the window they’d banished it through. 

The air around it crackled with leftover energy from the portal.

Professor Findlay looked uncomfortable. “After the demi-demon…”

“Which none of the Summoners did, either, Grier,” she snapped. She looked over at the cluster of Summoners, separated from the group. She sighed. “The poltergeist wasn’t let out here. Their energy is violent. You’d all have felt it coming through.”

“So—what, it was waiting?”

Dr. Deaton made a low noise. “Poltergeists aren’t patient, Professor Haught. But…” He flicked his gaze at Professor Eaton. “They are transportable.” 

“Someone _brought_ -” Professor Blake began, one hand flying to her throat. 

“Yes, yes, someone brought the poltergeist.” Professor Eason flapped a hand. “It is a ghost, Jennifer; it didn't even do much damage.” She beamed at the Summoners. “You guys did great! That must have been really fast work.”

“Well, it tried to possess Emory first,” Aaron Strauss said modestly. “It was distracted.” 

She didn’t look put out. “Still! A table and a broken chair! That’s very minimal damage. Who opened the portal?”

“Me,” Stiles replied. “Tessa helped, because we’re awesome.” 

Tessa high fived him.

Professor Eason nodded. “I think we need to let Elias and Astrid know it’s time for a faculty meeting. Also, I think everyone needs to head home for the night.”

Dr. Deaton dipped his head. “Agreed.” 

Professors Haught and Blake began ushering everyone out. 

Scott caught up to Stiles out in the hall. “You okay?”

“Yep.”

“Your fingers are twitching,” he observed.

Stiles stilled them consciously. “Just precautions.”

“Wards?”

“Yeah.”

Scott nodded. “Want to go get some food? I’ll drive.”

Stiles snorted. “You’ll drive what?”

“Well, your jeep,” he said reasonably. “But I’ll drive. Come on. I think we need some super greasy hamburgers.”

Stiles laughed a little. “Okay. Thanks.” He knocked their elbows together gratefully. 

 

Scott drove them to a little twenty-four hour diner called Irene’s Kitchen just down the road from campus. The lights were bright enough to be seen from the parking lot, the booths were alternating green and red, and the tables all shined with a mixture of just-cleaned attention and ingrained grease from the food, offered from a menu that hadn’t changed, no doubt, since the seventies. If that. 

“You okay?” Scott asked, sliding into a red booth. He stretched his legs out, nearly kicking Stiles in the shins, like he always did when they sat across from each other. 

“Yeah.” He rubbed his face. “It was just a poltergeist,” he said firmly. “How’d it go with Kira before the ghost shenanigans?” 

Scott grinned. “We were talking about my affinity. She’s curious about healing. I told her that it mostly runs in families, but it usually skips generations, which is why it’s such a rare affinity.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “You two are definitely getting pre-bonded in December. It’s happening.” He dropped his head back and groaned. “I’m going to be alone and you’re going to be off with Kira.”

“Aw, that’s not true. You’ll find someone to bond with.” 

He looked at Scott and sighed. 

After their waiter, Landon, had taken their orders, they shifted their focus to the poltergeist. It was more excitement than they’d had last year, for sure, but still, not the most serious of crimes to have been committed. 

“I just don’t get the point?” Scott frowned, puzzled. “It didn't do anything. No one got hurt, and no one but the Summoners could even see it, so it’s not like it did much damage.”

Stiles shook his head. “It could’ve done a lot more if we hadn’t noticed it. It was trying to possess Emory.” He sighed, flattening his hand on the table top. “We ward against that kind of thing now that we’re old enough to handle it.” He shook his shirt down, exposing a reddened ward on the front part of his shoulder, traced with his fingertip and magic. “I don’t use a potion like I’m supposed to, because it’s stronger like this. We all do this when we’re going to be drinking.”

Scott nodded. “Right, you told me.”

“Emory was a little more…susceptible tonight, for some reason, and the poltergeist was trying to step in. If it had gotten in, it could’ve used Emory’s body to hurt people, to set the place on fire…they’re destructive, vindictive. They want everyone to suffer like they’ve suffered.” He swallowed. “Even without a vessel, though, it could have done some damage. Broken things. It’s just easier for it to move around unnoticed in a vessel.” He rubbed his face. The sick horror he’d felt at the sight of it had left him feeling shaken, and he still hadn’t fully recovered. He knew just how it’d have felt for Emory, had it gained control. Floating away, no longer directing his own body, watching but not participating…

“Stiles,” Scott said worriedly, drawing his attention back to the present. “Should I call your dad?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m fine. I’ll probably talk to Mom tomorrow or something. It just sucks, that’s all.” 

He nodded sympathetically. A smile suddenly flashed over his face. “Hey, I saw you talking to Isaac and some other shifters! Maybe you found someone to bond with?”

Stiles forced a laugh. “I’m pretty sure Isaac is going to bond with Zack. Otherwise…” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t trust anyone.” He lifted his hands. “No one feels right.”

Scott looked weirdly thoughtful for a moment. “Don’t bite my head off,” he begged.

“What? Why?”

“Well, I mean, everyone says when you’re with someone who’s compatible, familiar-wise, that your auras will…show it.”

“Right…”

“And, I mean, even though there’s anger, your aura always, well…” He sighed. “Your aura is always _blazing_ when you’re arguing with Derek. And so is his.”

Stiles laughed outright, sitting back in the booth. “That’s called actual rage, Scotty.” He smirked, still amused. “It’s not compatibility, it’s fury. But thanks for trying to make me feel better,” he added. 

Scott opened his mouth, but their waiter returned with their orders then, preventing him from saying anything else. 

Stiles grabbed the ketchup bottle and made a mountain on the clear side of his plate. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll fool some sucker into thinking I’m a great person to bond with, then we’ll kill at prebonding and it’ll be great.” He dunked a fry into the ketchup.

Scott grimaced. “You can’t bond with—wait. I don’t even know what part of that sentence to address.” 

Stiles grinned. “That’s the spirit!”

“No, Stiles.” He sighed. “You just have to actually talk to people. Get to know the shifters.”

Stiles felt a pang of offense. That sounded like Derek, claiming Stiles didn’t speak to shifters. “Am I standoffish?” he asked abruptly. 

Scott barked out a surprised laugh. “Um, no?”

He nodded, acting like he wasn’t bothered. 

“What’s wrong?”

“A lot of things were wrong tonight, dude, you’re going to have to elaborate.” Stiles took a bite of his burger. “I’ll try harder to get to know some of the shifters. Next month. Promise.”

“Awesome. Now we just have to make sure there aren’t any poltergeists at the next mixer and it’ll be perfect.” Scott grinned, a piece of lettuce stuck to his upper lip, and Stiles had to laugh. 

“Sure. Perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update on either the 26th, like it should be, or whenever I crack. **Edit:** um I meant the 26th. Not the 19th. I'm awful. I'm sorry. Every other Tuesday. X.x


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eeee eee eee chapter 3! Hope you enjoy! LMK what you think! I haven't had a chance to check for typos, sorry! Beta'd only by me.

Stiles tapped his pen on the edge of his desk, trying to give Professor Blake his full attention and mostly failing. He could feel his classmates glancing alternately at him and Marlena. 

Scott was sitting beside him, keeping him from completely losing it. He sighed in relief when Professor Blake began assigning the homework and beamed at Stiles. 

“I want you all to choose one of the Norn to write about. Choose well, because I want you to spend the entire paper telling me the details you’ve learned about her, how to honor her, why you chose her, and what rune you’d associate with her. It’ll be due on Friday, so please be prepared.” She’d been quieter than usual since the demi-demon/poltergeist thing. 

Most of the teachers were, though; all classes and halls had extra protections, and Stiles was sure all sorts of spells had been put in place to detect portals. They had to be using a ton of magic and energy. 

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” Scott said in the hall. “Which Norn are you thinking of choosing? I think I’ll take _Skuld_ , she’s…” He made a face. “The friendliest? I don’t know.” 

Stiles snorted. “I get it.” He rolled his shoulders and made an effort to engage. “I might do _Verdandi._ ”

Scott nodded. “We can work on it together tonight, if you want.”

“Sure. Sounds good.” He turned his head to stare back at the first year staring at him—a nature sensitive, if her bluish aura was anything to go by.

She dropped her gaze and scurried away like he was going to sic a demon on her just by looking.

Scott jostled his shoulder gently. “Hey, look at the bright side. We don’t have phys ed until _after_ gen spells!” 

Stiles groaned. “Can’t I just skip phys ed?”

“No,” he said patiently. “When you’re bonded, you’ll need to know this stuff.”

“ _What_ stuff? How to do crunches and push-ups? Hate to break it to you, Scotty, but I pretty much figured that out in high school.” 

He rolled his eyes. “No, I mean how to use your shared strength.”

Stiles snorted. “Sure.”

 

Phys Ed was run by Coach Esperanza Grigorescu, who was a closet sadist. She started them off with a “light jog” so they could “warm up” most days. Stiles was not going to survive the year. 

“Just keep pace with us,” Scott said, slowing to jog beside Stiles. 

Kira was on his other side, not breaking a sweat or even looking a little bit out of breath. 

_Shifters._ “No, you guys go ahead.” Stiles made himself roll his eyes and grin. “I’ll just slow you down. This way I can set my own pace.” 

Scott looked worried. “If you’re sure…”

Stiles nodded. “Definitely sure. Totally. Never been surer of anything in my life.”

The concern cleared off Scott’s face, replaced by an exasperated grin. “Alright.” He and Kira set off ahead of him.

He let out a breath. He wasn’t much for strenuous physical activity, so it was better if he only had himself to complain and moan to.

“Your Gen spells presentation was overly simplified.” 

Stiles’s head whipped around. “ _Excuse me_?” he snapped.

Derek shrugged, slowing so they could jog side by side. “Your presentation on fire spells in gen was oversimplified. You could’ve done way more in depth.”

“The point of Gen spells is to learn basics—just because you speak Latin doesn’t mean everyone does. Beginners can start perfectly well with _ignis_ —and it works just as well as _floga_ , I’m sure you remember.”

“I was thinking _coruscare_ , actually,” he replied.

“That’s because you’re a massively arrogant _dick_ ,” Stiles shot back. “ _Coruscare_ is a curse,” he explained when Derek blinked. “A blaze; no one should use that unless they’re trying to level something.”

“Sure, if whoever cast it can’t control it,” he scoffed. 

They argued—somewhat breathlessly, on Stiles’s part—for most of the class, until Stiles slipped off the pull-up bar and busted his lip laughing at Derek’s abysmal Greek pronunciation of the spell for embers. 

“I don’t need the nurse, Coach Grigorescu,” he said earnestly. “My roommate’s a Healer. I’m sure he can handle this.” He gestured at his face.

She studied him, hands on her hips. “McCall!” she shouted. “Come fix your friend’s face!”

“I’m afraid there’s no fixing it, ma’am,” Derek said, and even Stiles had to muffle a laugh.

“Right. Hale, go take a lap.” 

Derek smirked like he thought it was worth it before he took off. 

 

Stiles sprawled across the table at lunch, groaning. “Why does she hate us?”

“She’s thorough.” Scott prodded him. “Sit up. Your lip is bleeding again. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Stiles sat up and tipped his head back so Scott could see the cut. 

Healers started out only able to heal animals and small wounds on people; Scott was usually fine with cuts, but Stiles figured it was because he was tired. 

Scott shook his hand and blew out a breath. He hovered his hand over Stiles’s mouth. It was always a little uncomfortable when the wound was in an awkward place, but Healing was a hands-on affinity. 

Stiles remembered being five-years-old, playing in the yard with Scott after it’d rained. The sun had been drying everything, including the worms the rain had displaced. Scott had noticed the sun was baking them to death, and had scooped them up, his eyes screwing up in concentration. His hands had begun to glow.

Stiles smiled as he remembered how proud Melissa had been when she’d realized Scott had inherited her rather rare affinity. 

“Stop smiling,” Scott grumbled. “You keep reopening it. God. Mom makes this look so easy.”

“It’s because you aren’t used to it yet. You’ll get it.”

“Stop talking.”

Stiles crossed his eyes, making Scott snort.

Kira joined them a second later. “Ooh, wow, I’ve never seen anyone heal before.” She leaned closer, tipping her head to study the faint glow on Scott’s palm.

A burst of warmth told Stiles his lip had been healed. He scooted back. “Thanks.”

Scott nodded, his face flushing.

Stiles glanced between him and Kira. “I’m…gonna go get some nachos.”

“Okay.” Scott was already turning toward Kira, a little smile curling the corner of his mouth.

Stiles figured they’d be dating by the end of the month. It would mean they’d have to be tested more thoroughly for compatibility; they’d want to make sure they were ready to work together, not just bonding because they were dating. They’d probably be fine, though. They’d done really well in Phys Ed, encouraging and challenging each other in equal measures. 

The girl running the register gave Stiles a wary look as he purchased his nachos, which he ignored. He’d gone through worse in high school; a Summoner in Mississippi had been going around unleashing violent spirits of all kinds throughout the country until he was caught and stripped of his powers. People were outright vicious to Summoners then, as if they were all in league with him somehow. 

This, he could handle. “Thanks,” he said with a wide, wide grin. He took his nachos while she was still staring and walked away. 

Kira and Scott’s heads were bent together at their table, so he didn’t go there. He dunked a chip in the orange cheese, scanning the crowd until he found Allison at a table for three by herself. “Hey. Mind?”

She shook her head and swept her textbooks into her bag. “Where’s Scott?”

“With Kira.” Stiles sat down and set the machos in the middle of the table. “Where’s Cora?”

“She’s eating with Derek and their older sister.” She gestured at a table near the doors. 

Laura and her witch, Galen, were laughing about something; Derek looked mildly murderous and Cora looked smug. 

“Why aren’t you sitting with them?”

“Didn’t feel like it.” She stretched her arms over her head and yawned. “Do you work tonight?”

“No, but I do tomorrow.” He scooped some orange goo onto a chip and ate it. “Should be fun. I can sit and get paid while people stare at me.”

She smirked. “You should fully summon your mom. See how fast she straightens them out.”

Stiles laughed a little. “That would be the sweetest payback.”

“Right? And educational for them, if I remember Mrs. Stilinski at all.” Her grin turned strained, and before Stiles could follow her gaze to see why, someone sat in the chair between them. 

“What’s funny?” Matt Daehler asked pleasantly. 

Stiles scowled. “None of your business.”

“Don’t be like that. I’m just making sure you’re not bothering Allison,” he simpered. 

“He isn’t,” she said flatly. “You are.”

Matt sat back, pressing a palm to his chest like he was offended. He was smirking, though, like he thought they were bantering. “You wound me. I was just checking on you.” He reached forward to grab a chip.

Alison knocked his hand away and grabbed one herself. She shrugged at Stiles. 

Matt’s face flushed with anger, something dark flashing in his eyes. 

“Maybe you should leave,” Stiles suggested. 

Matt glared at them for a second, then, with a scoff, shoved himself away from the table and stalked off. 

“Ugh, he’s so skeevy,” Allison muttered. She spilled cheese down her chin and swore, trying to catch it with a spare chip.

Stiles laughed and flicked a napkin at her. “You’re as bad as I am.”

She stuck her tongue out. “No one is as bad as you.” She sighed and rested her now-clean chin on her palm. “My parents are coming this weekend.”

“Oh, that sounds like a _blast._ ”

She scowled. “They want to talk to me about career options.”

He smiled sympathetically at her. “You could always talk to my dad about jobs. He’s a Tracker, too.”

“Yeah.” She moved her shoulders. “I’ve still got four years of school left. What’s the rush?”

He shook his head. “No idea.” He scooped up some cheese. 

 

Infused Magic came after lunch. They were currently studying the idea of smartphone enchantment; it was tricky but not impossible magic. 

“What could we possibly need to do to a smartphone?” someone from the back called. It sounded like Jackson, but Stiles wasn’t going to check. “They already do pretty much everything.”

Professor James nodded. “True. My phone detects the phases of the moon, and that’s just an app. It also tracks planets, however, constellations, and plays music depending on what kind of mood I’m in,” he said with a crafty little smile. “That could be your homework,” he mused, twitching to write a note in his planner. 

The class collectively turned to glare at Jackson.

“Yes, that sounds good. Everyone think of something your smartphone can’t do, but could, with magic. Write a report about it and how it could be achieved.” He looked pleased with himself.

“Could they be used to detect portals?”

Professor James looked surprised. “Pardon?”

Stiles’s shoulders slumped. 

“Could you infuse a smartphone to detect portals?” There was some snickering.

The back of Stiles’s neck felt hot, like people were staring at him. He flicked a glance at Gus, who was sitting a few seats away; he returned Stiles’s look and rolled his eyes. 

“That would depend on where the portal goes to, and how close you are to it. But it’s possible,” Professor James said slowly.

“Would it be useful?”

The class turned to see Derek looking smug.

“Explain, Mr. Hale.”

“Portals can be used for all sorts of things—not just pulling through realms, but traveling and shipping, too. Those are more advanced and difficult portals, but they’re possible. So if your phone was capable of detecting them, you might pick up interference from commonplace portals. Like, say, someone having a conversation with a loved one while you’re trying to find someone pulling demi-demons through to do their bidding. So how useful could a portal-detecting phone be?”

“That’s true. Detecting portals is interesting and difficult whether you use a phone or any other magical device.” Professor James eyed them, then turned back to his notes. “Speaking of projects, how are yours going? We’ll discuss them in groups. Writing utensils, cups, notebooks and planners, and keyrings. Split up.”

Stiles looked back at Scott, who was digging around in his bag looking for his partially enchanted planner. Beyond him, Allison and Cora each had travel mugs on their table. From the look of them, their mugs were better at self-heating than Stiles’s—they’d had more practice, which he was absolutely going to use as an excuse. 

The shifters who didn’t have witches yet got out notebooks to start working in.

Stiles tested his coffee. It was warm, and from early in the morning, so he was getting there.

Gus frowned into his own travel cup. “Most of my ice has melted. Damn it.”

“My coffee is lukewarm.” They shared commiserating smiles. Stiles started fiddling with his papers, ruffling the edges with his thumb. 

By the time Professor James let them out of class, the bottom of his notebook had a ton of small tears. He’d refrained from burning wards or sigils into the desk, though, so he counted that as a win. 

“Dude,” Scott said sympathetically as he shoved the book in his bag. 

“I’ve been through worse.” Stiles shrugged and shouldered his bag. “I’ll see you before dinner, okay?”

Scott hesitated, but his Elemental Works 2 class was in another building, so he had to go. “Yeah, see you.” He squeezed Stiles’s arm and took off. 

Stiles’s class was only down the hall, so he took his time, letting the crowd thin out on his way. 

“Look, we’re just saying—it’s your affinity, right?” The voice was pitched in a mocking tone Stiles recognized from high school. “So just open a portal and pull something through. We wanna see a full demon.”

Stiles whipped around. Some sixth year nature sensitives were crowded around a first year Summoner, who was studiously avoiding their gazes. He scowled and started toward them, fingers twitching. 

“What does a full demon look like, death breath? Ever seen one?”

The boy shook his head, trying to dodge around them. 

A redhead shot his arm out, blocking him in place. “Come on, it’ll be fun. You call it out, we’ll make a deal with it. Bind it here, make it do our bidding. I heard full demons have powers like gods. Is that true?”

Stiles shouted, “ _Hey_!” because full demons weren’t evil but they didn’t like being disturbed, let alone by someone attempting to _bind it._

Some of them turned, glaring. “What? You think you can summon better than this runt?” He shrugged, looking cocky. “We just wanted to see who was capable of summoning a demon, you know. With the attacks.” He glanced at his friends and smirked. “We’ve got familiars. We don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Come here,” Stiles said to the first year. He tensed when the sixth years moved to stop him; without using magic, he didn’t exactly have a chance. And he really, really didn’t want to start a fight in the hall. 

“Bullying and coercing other students into using magic unwillingly is an offense punishable by expulsion.” Derek stopped next to Stiles and stared at the group.

“Who asked you?” the redhead snapped. “We’re just trying to find out who’s siccing demi-demons on shifters.”

“I doubt it’s a first year,” Derek said flatly. “Go to class,” he ordered the kid, who bolted off. When they tried to stop him, Derek snarled and flashed his eyes. 

They backed off, holding their hands up. The redhead flipped them off, a claw curving up the tip of his finger. 

Stiles looked over his shoulder at the first year, but he was far away, dashing into a Magical Control and Ethics class down the hall. 

“Come on,” one of the brunets muttered. “I’ve got phys ed.”

They dispersed. 

Stiles stood rooted to the spot with rage, trembling and wishing he’d done more. Ripped open a portal and showed them what a Summoner could do when provoked. 

“Don’t you have a class?” Derek asked.

“Don’t _you_?” he snapped back. He shook himself. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Thanks for your help. See you.”

“Stiles.”

He sighed. “Yeah?” He looked back.

Derek hesitated, then just said, “You’re welcome,” and walked away. 

Professor Eason was watering her many plants when Stiles got there. Marlena, Gus, and Tessa were helping her, each armed with a different colored watering can. Emory, Judith, and Wayne were passing out mirrors. Some Summoners worked better with water or clear glass, but mirrors were easier to keep in the classroom. 

“So,” Professor Eason called, setting down her red can. “From the look of the collective auras in here, I’m guessing it wasn’t a great weekend.”

Stiles snorted and flopped into his usual seat. 

“People are awful,” Janis McGuire muttered. “They act like we all had something to do with the demi-demon and poltergeist.”

“Right.” Professor Eason hopped onto her desk and crossed her legs. “They forget everyone can summon.” She flicked something off her pant leg and leaned forward. “Today, we’re going to practice own-realm portals. They’re a little harder, so don’t get discouraged if you can’t do it. We’ll keep practicing for a few classes.” 

 

Stiles got back to the dorm before Scott and decided to call his dad while he had the room to himself. 

“ _Hey, son, how’s it going?_ ” John sounded pleased. There was some noise in the background but, after a second of shuffling, it became muffled. “ _You okay?_ ”

“It’s—you know. Fine. School. I just wanted to check in, see how everything is going back home.”

John hummed thoughtfully. “ _Oh, well, it’s going, as usual. We’ve been plenty busy. The Atlee twins got into a fight in the middle of Main Street, blocked traffic for about thirty minutes. We had to take them both in. Boneheads were arguing about which Mötley Crüe song was the best._ ” 

Stiles laughed. “That sounds about right.” The Atlee twins were in their early fifties and had been arguing for about eighty percent of that time. 

John kept talking about both the mundane and magical drama in Beacon Hills, problems that had nothing to do with Stiles. It was a Stilinski skill, the ability to fill the silence when it needed to be filled. 

Scott came in a few minutes later, dumping his bag on his bed and mouthing a greeting at Stiles. 

“Scott says hi, Dad.” 

John chuckled. “ _Tell him hi back. I’ll let you go, so you boys can do your_ homework. _Love yous._ ”

“We love you, too. Bye.” Stiles rubbed his face and looked at his desk.

Lemmy had hopped up, lounging on his open textbook. He purred when Stiles stroked his side. 

Stiles scratched Lemmy’s ears, then stood. “Just a sec,” he muttered when Scott looked at him strangely. He went to the closed door and began drawing wards along the frame; the paint sizzled and bubbled under his fingertip, but he kept going. The wards glowed orange for a moment until he drew he third, above the door; they flashed black, faded to orange, then went flat. 

“Protection?” Scott asked with surprise. “The school is protected.”

Stiles shrugged. “Just in case. It can’t hurt.” He leaned back to study his work. “Might draw some sigils on myself later, too.”

“Why?”

“Because…I don’t know.” He thought about the sixth years ganging up on the first year Summoner. “Let’s get started on our homework.”

“Sure.” Scott nodded. “I’ll help you with the sigils before we go down for dinner.”

Stiles smiled gratefully. “Thanks.” He lifted Lemmy and rubbed his cheek against his side, which he allowed graciously, then set him on Scott’s bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter scheduled for July 10th


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I'm writing this AND my Camp NaNoWriMo novel, so I'm not sleeping much and therefore this isn't beta'd OR read over by me the usual 4 times, so good luck and enjoy! Let me know what you think! Sorry for any typos. Camp NaNo is kicking my butt this year and I am. So. Tired.

August drifted lazily into September. No other attacks or strange apparitions occurred, and slowly the tension eked from the school. It was like those two were _welcome back_ pranks, and once the perpetrator realized how much trouble they could get in, they’d stopped. Things went back to normal fairly quick after that.

“You’re supposed to _slice_ the wild galangal, not chop it,” Stiles snapped. He jerked the cutting board away from Derek’s side of the work table.

Tessa sighed noisily. 

“The book says to cut it up,” Derek replied, trying to snatch it back.

“Yeah, in _slices_. You don’t chop galangal, you freaking-” He drew in a sharp breath. “You don’t chop galangal. So slice it. Please.” 

Tessa rolled her eyes and began dropping fade lavender petals into the pot they had simmering on the burner. 

Potion Making, the practical lessons anyway, was sort of like a cooking class, although most potions, like the one they were working on, had to be precise, unlike most recipes. 

“You guys fight like my parents,” Tessa drawled. “Stiles, why don’t you focus on the autumn spice, and let Derek slice the galangal.” She moved to stand between them, still carefully picking apart the lavender she had in her hands. 

Professor Granville had put them in groups of three to practice different potions; Stiles, Tessa, and Derek had been assigned the _extasis_ potion—it was sometimes known as the _insania_ potion. Ecstasy. It was usually used, sparingly, on people about to undergo surgery, or other stressful things. Sometimes it was used as a street drug alternative, but some of the ingredients were expensive. 

Tessa and Stiles worked together fine; it was him and Derek who had the issues. Stiles swore Professor Granville just liked the drama of putting the two of them close enough together to cause an explosion. 

Stiles sighed and grabbed the jar of autumn spice from the rack near their table, shaking it slightly before he grabbed the measuring spoons. He needed exactly a tablespoon of it. He checked the book again, dragging it with his fingertip away from Derek’s side of the table so he could read the instructions. Tablespoon. He scooped it out, carefully leveling the top with his knife. He tipped it into the pot.

Orange smoke curled up in wisps as he dumped it in. He blew at the smoke until it scattered a bit, giving him a peek of the potion. It turned a pleasant purple color as the autumn spice settled in with the rest. 

Derek dragged the book closer while he was still slicing the galangal.

Tessa nodded, pleased, and began shredding the lavender stem. She tipped the last of the petals into the pot. “We need a little more of this and a tiny bit of cave creeper.”

Stiles wrinkled his nose. Cave creeper had a damp, stale smell that he wasn’t fond of. “How much?”

“Just a teaspoon, I think?” Tessa twisted her head to try to see the book. 

Derek made a low noise. “It says a-”

Someone at the table behind them coughed, and the stench of rotten eggs spread through the air. 

Stiles gagged. “Gross. How much?”

“Half a teaspoon,” Tessa said, elbowing him a little while Derek turned around to assist the group behind them. 

Stiles rolled his eyes and went to put the autumn spice jar back and exchange it for the container of cave creeper on the second shelf. He measured out half a teaspoon, leaning his hip against the table to keep his hands steady. “Do I pour it in now?”

Tessa checked the book. “No, it goes after the wild galangal.”

Derek sighed loudly. “Almost done.” 

“Don’t get grumpy with me,” Tessa grumbled. “Okay, here’s the last of the fade lavender.” She tossed the shredded stem in. The smoke darkened, the orange deepening to red. The potion itself turned blue, and the smoke formed twists and swirls that definitely had a pattern.

“After we add the galangal, the smoke should turn lighter again.” Stiles tugged the book closer and squinted at it. “Ugh, why are they so finicky?” And why were the instructions only to be found in this one _specific_ Book of Shadows in the class? Why weren’t there more copies?

“Because they hate us.” Tessa checked her watch. “Okay, Derek, go ahead and put in the galangal.”

He swept the slices off the board and into the pot. 

Stiles turned the heat up to medium, watching the eye carefully. The pot began to bubble slowly. He grabbed the half teaspoon of cave creeper and tipped it in, just as Derek gasped, “No-”

Tessa leaped backward at the same time he shouted.

Hot, blue potion exploded out from the pot, spattering Stiles’s entire torso and head; it sprayed all along his face, neck, chest, and arms. It was thick like exploded Jell-O. He’d instinctively shut his mouth, thankfully, but it was still…everywhere. Stiles sputtered as a glob of it rolled down his chin.

“It’s supposed to be a _quarter_ teaspoon of cave creeper,” Derek snarled.

Stiles glanced at him and had to bite down on his tongue to keep from laughing.

Derek was covered in blue goop; it hung from his eyebrows in thick strings, trailing over his cheeks and down his neck. His white t-shirt was ruined. 

Professor Granville cleared his throat. “ _Boys._ Go to the decontamination showers.”

“We’re only-” Stiles began, before he was overcome with giggles. He looked wildly at Derek, who’d gone pink in the face.

He started to grin, which was a weirdly carefree expression on him. It looked good. 

“Tessa, please take your group members to get cleaned up. And then to the clinic, I suppose.” Professor Granville sighed and rubbed his eyes. 

Tessa, who was somehow perfectly free of blue splatter, ushered Derek to the shower first; he was surprisingly cooperative, letting her guide him through the maze of lab tables. 

Marlena left her group to take Stiles’s arm.

He swayed into her, giggling breathlessly. “Why—why—?” he gasped, too giddy to get out a full question. 

“ _Insania_ ,” Marlena muttered. She tugged on his arm. “C’mon, loopy, we’ve got to get you cleaned off.”

He stumbled after her, his vision sort of swimming. The pale green walls seemed to shimmer, the floor heaving drunkenly under his sneakers. 

Derek’s shirt was plastered to his chest while Tessa sprayed him down. When he spotted Stiles, his giggling turned to gales of laughter. He had to push his sopping hair aside to keep him in sight. 

Stiles couldn’t find it in himself to be insulted. He just lifted a hand, scooped blue goo off his chest, and flung it at Derek. They both started laughing so hard they nearly fell over. 

Marlena grimly shoved Stiles under a sprayer and pulled the chain. 

Freezing water doused him, rinsing the potion off in sticky chunks. 

“The effects will probably last,” Professor Granville sighed, “for an hour at least. You two escort them to the clinic, please.” 

“Yes, sir,” Marlena sighed, observing Stiles’s wide grin. 

Stiles patted her arm, beaming. 

“At least the potion wasn’t done,” Tessa mused as they corralled Stiles and Derek into the hall.

“Oh? Why do you say that?” Marlena asked dryly.

Stiles, who was feeling fondly toward her, swayed closer and licked her cheek.

She shook him. “No. Gross. Stilinski, you are the _weirdest_ drunk, I swear.”

“Because that much of an ecstasy potion has been known to make people orgasm until they pass out,” Tessa said matter-of-factly. 

Derek laughed giddily, nearly knocking her over. 

Stiles laughed, too, and he felt _happy_ , so fucking happy he thought he might burst, but he felt panic tickling the back of his brain. He knew, on some level, that the potion was keeping his spirits high, but that couldn’t matter to him—because the potion. 

“Hey, these guys had an incident in Potion Making,” Tessa said when they arrived at the clinic. She shoved Derek off her shoulder. 

“What kind of potion?” the receptionist asked briskly, picking up a clipboard.

“Ecstasy—er, well, a half-finished _insania_ potion,” Tessa corrected. 

“Oh, good.”

“Oh, good,” Stiles mimicked, letting out a shriek of laughter. He tipped sideways, his vision sparkling black around the edges. 

Derek had to use the counter to hold himself up as he laughed, gasping with every other breath. 

“Okay, boys, since you’ve been rinsed off, let’s get you some beds and oxygen.”

“Sombed sand gen,” Stiles snorted. 

Marlena rolled her eyes and shoved him toward the back, where there were rooms for people who needed privacy. Apparently they wanted the two hyenas in their own room. 

Someone put him in a chair and strapped him and Derek to oxygen masks, and left them in a room together, door open slightly. 

It took about two minutes for Stiles’s head to clear. One more for his eyes to roll and for him to slump forward, shaking. He heard Derek shout something, muffled and distant—he jerked away hard when he felt a hand brush his arm.

“Don’t touch him,” someone said vaguely. 

He was still influenced just enough by the potion to calm down more easily than usual. He found Scott kneeling in front of him and blinked.

“Hey, man, you okay?” He was wearing light purple scrubs and a tight, concerned expression. 

He nodded, sucking at his dumb little oxygen mask like it was the source of all life. Well…

Scott held a hand out, palm up, until Stiles tapped the center of it. He set his hand on Stiles’s knee. “It’s probably because you couldn’t catch your breath—it felt like a panic attack.”

His vision was widening again, allowing him to see the rest of the room—the blank white door, the clean tiles, Derek’s stark white face behind his own mask. 

Stiles felt ridiculous. Freaking out because he’d _laughed_ too hard to catch his breath. How pathetic was that? He rolled his shoulders and straightened up. He nodded at Scott and focused on the pale green wallpaper. He didn’t know why the clinic was wall papered rather than painted cement blocks like the rest of the school.

“So I’m in charge of you guys for the rest of the time you’re here. Sorry, but Healers can’t fix potion exposure unless it’s poison.” He straightened up and moved to check on Derek. 

Stiles flicked his gaze to the landscape painting on the wall over Scott’s shoulder. 

After a few minutes, Scott switched their oxygen off and allowed them to drink some water. While they were sipping, he filled the silence talking about the other Healers, his homework, and the new treats he’d picked up for Lemmy. 

“And you know who’s _awful_?” He didn’t wait for them to guess. “Matt! I always end up having to do my rounds in the clinic on the same weeks as him.” He rolled his eyes. “He never does anything technically wrong, he just…” He shrugged. “He’s annoying.” Then he looked around like he was worried that Matt had heard him. 

Derek set his cup on his knee. “How long do we have to stay here?”

“Probably another twenty minutes,” Scott said apologetically. “I have to go check in with Dr. Medina, but don’t move, okay?” He stared at them seriously until they nodded. He gave Stiles a narrow look anyway before he left. 

Stiles sighed and drank more water. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He kept his gaze down when he felt Derek look at him. “For not checking the directions more thoroughly.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Derek shrug. “Sorry for yelling.”

“I swear Tessa said half a teaspoon,” Stiles mused. He looked up finally. “I guess it’s possible she didn’t hear you…”

“I didn’t hear what she said; Mark and Emily behind us were being so loud that I missed it.”

Stiles nodded and dropped his gaze again. “Right. Sorry.”

There was a pause, and then… “Do you get, um, a lot? Of attacks like that?”

Mortified, Stiles glanced at his face. He hesitated when he found Derek looking guilty, then, realizing what was going on, rolled his eyes. “You yelling at me didn’t cause it,” he scoffed. He pressed a hand to his chest, remembering the thin, insubstantial feeling of the air in his lungs. “The potion was making me laugh so hard I couldn’t get my breath. It felt like panic, that’s all.”

Derek nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay.” 

Scott came back soon after that; he was in jeans and a t-shirt, one bag hooked over his shoulder and two in his arms. He grinned at them. “Got your stuff. I’m afraid you’ll have to go to you next classes all damp, but at least you dried a little bit.” 

 

Professor Blake was absent when Stiles got to Runes. Her TA, Blanche Martinez, told them they were just going to be practicing casting with their usual groups, and insisted that Blake had just come down with the flu. 

Stiles thought that was weird, but he guessed it was possible. 

When possible, rune casting was done outside, so the classroom had a door directly to a small side yard that rarely got used by other classes. The students were split in groups of three. Scott and Stiles moved off to the side into a patch of sunlight that was probably going to leave the back of Stiles’s neck sunburned. 

“I bet Professor Blake is hungover,” Arlene Vaughn snickered. She was the third part of their group, a Summoner like Stiles. She knelt with them and spread out her own casting cloth. 

“Yeah, right. Can you imagine?” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Granville, maybe, Eason _definitely_ , but Professor Blake is always so-” He moved his shoulders. 

“She’s responsible,” Scott said delicately. 

Arlene tittered. “She’s seemed _plenty_ nervous since the demi-demon thing. Bless her heart,” she added with a tilted smile. “Probably thinks one is going to just come up and snatch her.” She looked expectantly at them, then, after a moment, sighed. “My cloth. One of you needs to use your candle, and the other one needs to get out their runes.” She stared at them again.

Scott carefully unearthed his red bag of runes, so Stiles dug out his candle; they were outside, so he only took out the black candle. Small flames were easy enough that he didn’t have to say anything to get the wick to ignite; it flared to life at a glance. He looked at Scott’s runes. They were going to make their own runes by the end of their classes, but it was traditional to bring a parent’s when school first started. 

Claudia’s were in Stiles’s bag; he rarely used them in groups, and no one asked him to, thankfully. 

“So, what should we look for?”

Arlene grinned; the gleam in her eye paired with her grin and round cheeks made her look like a demented cherub. “We should ask _Verdandi_ to tell us what’s going on with Professor Blake.”

Scott looked disapproving. “We shouldn’t try to snoop. It’s rude.”

“It isn’t as if they’ll tell us anything _interesting_ ,” she said with a pout. She sighed. “Or we could ask _Urdhr_ about the demi-demon.”

“That sounds better.” Scott glanced at the other groups around them. “At least that way we aren’t intruding on anyone.” He nodded and put his hand in the bag. He took a breath and drew a single rune out without looking at it.

Arlene did it next; Stiles put his hand in last, letting the discs slide against his hand until one brushed his fingers and a burst of warmth followed. He closed his hand around it and drew it out. 

“Okay. Ready?” Scott didn’t wait for their replies; he let out a slow breath and let his rune tumble out of his hand and onto the casting cloth.

Stiles’s landed next to his, while Arlene’s rolled to a stop above both of theirs.

Arlene scoffed. “Okay. How often does _that_ happen?”

“Maybe they weren’t the right ones,” Scott said slowly.

Stiles noted down the results in his Runes notebook anyway. “Which ones are they?” He lifted his gaze slightly. 

“Uruz, Ansuz, Gebo,” Scott told him. “I’ll cast by myself this time. Maybe it was a fluke.”

“Okay.” Stiles wrote the runes down anyway; he didn’t miss that he’d cast Uruz facedown. He traced a ward on his ankle while Scott gathered the runes and put them in the bag.

He shook it, frowning at the drawstrings. 

Stiles tilted his head back, using the sparse clouds to clear his mind. He could usually manage for long enough to cast runes accurately, but maybe he’d been thinking about something. 

Scott drew out three discs without looking, shook them in his palm like dice, and threw them into the circle. 

Arlene gasped. 

Stiles jerked his head down.

All three runes were facedown again. Each rune had a different meaning when facedown, but for _all_ cast runes to be facedown…

“It just means whoever did it is hiding themselves,” Stiles said flatly. “It’s nothing.”

“But what does Ansuz mean again? Facedown, I mean.” Arlene flipped through her book. “Ugh! See, this is why I want to use runes _strictly_ for amulets.” 

“Talismans and charms, too,” Scott said. “Here, Arlene, why don’t you cast this time? Maybe I was thinking about something.”

She gave the runes a suspicious look. “Maybe we should try looking for something else?”

“Let’s try getting a reading for our school performance or something.” Stiles set his notebook aside and scooped up the runes still in the circle. He wasn’t surprised to see Scott had cast Uruz, Ansuz, and Gebo again, even by himself.

“That sounds good.”

They cast for the future and wrote out the results, chatting and pretending they’d forgotten about their first readings. The sun was drying out Stiles’s clothes, and no one else seemed to be in a rush to finish up, so it wasn’t as if they were holding anyone up. Even Blanche was examining her runes at a sedate pace; of course, she was doing a nine rune cast instead of three. They noted down each rune, the meaning of them, and their interpretation of the reading, then set their notebooks aside to enjoy their time outside. 

“Did y’all hear that Elsie Ramos and Danielle Greene broke up? Apparently they were having this big fight and Danielle threw something—not sure what, because everyone is saying something different—and a window broke, so Elsie dumped her.” Arlene looked at the ground for a moment, frowning.

Stiles closed his notebook. “Well…”

“Throwing things during an argument is never a good sign,” Scott said cautiously. “But maybe we shouldn’t gossip…”

Arlene scowled. “I’m not gossiping! Elsie’s my friend, and Danielle is really sweet, it’s not like her to lose her temper like that.” She bit at her index nail, then grimaced when the polish cracked. “Oh, damn it.”

Stiles smiled a little; Arlene rarely swore, so it always sounded a little off when she did. “Maybe they’ll work it out. Haven’t they been dating since high school?”

“On and off, but it’s never seemed so… _permanently_ off, y’know?” She sighed. “I guess I shouldn’t want to pry but they…” She moved her shoulders. “I guess Scott’s right. No gossip.”

Scott shot an amused look at Stiles before gathering up his runes. 

Arlene carefully folded up her casting cloth. “Are you guys going to leave me hanging, or what?” she demanded after a moment.

“What?”

“Talk to me! We don’t have to gossip but _lord_ , give me _something._ ”

Scott laughed. “There’s a party tomorrow night,” he said, flicking a quick glance at Stiles. He managed a weak grin. “Kira and I were going.”

“ _Nice._ ”

“Come on, guys, let’s get back inside. Class is almost up,” Blanche called.

“Text me about that party,” Arlene said, getting to her feet. She grimaced at her shoulders. “Freckles. Every damn summer.” 

“A party?” Stiles mouthed as the class trailed back inside. 

Scott shrugged apologetically. “I was waiting until lunch to tell you about it.” He shrugged again. “If you don’t want to come, you don’t have to. Or—or if you want me to stay-”

“Dude. If I decide not to go, I’m not going to make you skip it.” He shrugged. “Hey, maybe I’ll go and get drunk.”

Scott snorted. “Sure.”

“I resent that. I could do it.”

Scott clapped him on the shoulder. “Sure, bro. Sure.” 

 

 

Stiles tried casting his own runes while he was at work; no one was there at ten on a Friday night anyway. He spread his casting cloth out over the desk, his paperwork set neatly aside so he had the space. He took out his mother’s runes, painted with a deep purple potion on flat river rocks. She’d made them the day before she’d found out she was pregnant with Stiles, and had liked telling him that he’d inspired them before she’d died. 

It was useless. All his readings were nonsense, useless, or the same three from class. He tried doing a six, then a nine rune cast, but the extras kept falling outside the circle.

“Oh my god,” he muttered, annoyed. He swept the runes into their bag, folded up his casting cloth, and tucked it all away. He looked up, checking for people, but there was still no one there. He spun in his chair to face the window behind him. He swept a hand across the glass; a portal tore open, rippling until its edges stabilized. 

Claudia’s back was turned, but when she heard Stiles say her name, she turned. “Hey, kiddo.” She beamed. “How’s it going?”

“Better. I actually had a question.” 

“Shoot.”

“So, we were casting runes and we kept getting the same facedown runes. Then I cast by myself and got the same ones. I was—um, wondering how common that was, but the look on your face is making me think it’s not a great sign.”

Claudia grimaced. “It isn’t. But probably—it’s usually…” She sighed and rubbed her face. “The easiest, best reason for that kind of reading is that someone’s magic was interfering.”

Stiles frowned. “Why would it keep happening in here, though?”

“Have you been trying to answer the same question as earlier?”

He bit his lip. “Well…yeah.”

“Why don’t you try asking another question?”

“Because all the other readings felt insincere.” He frowned at himself, unsure of why he’d said that. 

“Hmm.” Claudia looked thoughtful. “Maybe someone is trying to keep people from getting clear readings. Tomorrow, get your friends to do readings of their own, see if they feel the same.” The portal flickered, distorting her next words. “-for each other, too.” Her face screwed up. “Portal connection—bad.” 

“Sorry. I keep forgetting to bring a mirror.” 

She smiled. “Once you have a familiar, you won’t need one.” 

He grimaced and tried to hide it by rubbing the back of his hand over his mouth. “Looking forward to it. Thanks, Mom. Love you.”

“Love you, too, sweetie. Bye.” She waved a hand and the portal closed. Perks of being a Summoner _and_ a ghost.

He frowned at the window. He considered opening another portal, but if the connection to the afterlife was bad, it would be worse further away. 

A woman careened into the desk in front of him. “Hey, man, can you help me find these?” She was waving a crumpled paper list, looking panicked. Her short, dark hair was standing in uneven tufts, there were deep bags under her eyes, and she was wearing a paint-spattered t-shirt and dark jeans. She was not, he noticed, wearing shoes. 

“How many books total?” he asked, deciding not to bother mentioning their policy about shoes and shirts required. She clearly had more to worry about.

“Four.”

“Which books?” He caught the list before she could cram it down his throat. “ _Snakes and Flowers_ by Jamie Sutton, _Weapons of the Rivers_ by Rene Doyle, I’ll find those. You get the other two, we’ll meet over at this table.” He gestured. “Nonfiction is alphabetical by author’s last name.”

“Right.” She swallowed and nodded frantically. “Thanks.” 

Finding the shifter—her name turned out to be Abigail, a fourth year—her books and getting her set up to start the project she had forgotten about kept Stiles occupied for almost an hour. Then she got to work and he went back to the desk.

There were books in the return box, so he went about checking those into the system. The reshelf cart was pretty full, so, sighing, he got up to put them away; he still had a few hours to kill. He grumbled to himself at the sight of bent or singed pages, but it was common enough; lucky the cover hadn’t been returned with a check and baggie of ashes in it. Which had happened before. Multiple times. Witch students were fun. Most books here were copies and flame resistant, but magic had a way of getting around that. 

Stiles hummed to himself as he stocked, trying to keep himself occupied. 

“Is that _Wild Fire_ by Dorothy?”

Stiles turned and smiled. “Yeah. Sorry, was I bothering you?”

The woman shook her head. “No. But could you help me?” She had a gentle brown aura around her and her jeans had grass and dirt stains on the knees like she’d been gardening.

“Maybe. What do you need help with?” he asked warily, eyeing her aura.

She smiled kindly. “Just some books. I’m kind of bored, and I can’t exactly get them off the shelves myself.” She fluttered her hands through the air, fingers blurring. 

“You don’t want to go anywhere?”

She smiled warmly. “No, I’m good for now. I’m Michelle,” she added. 

“Stiles.” He set a book on the shelf where it belonged. “How’d you get here?”

She pressed her hands to her dirt-smeared jeans. “Well, I got pulled through unexpectedly.” She frowned. “Not sure who pulled me through, though. There was no one around when I popped here.” 

“Do you need me to send you back?” he asked, pausing with a book held mid-air. 

She hummed. “Maybe later. I’m surrounded by books, and I’d love to read some.” She smiled hopefully.

Stiles smiled back. “Sure. I have to put these away first, though, then I can help you find something to read.”

“Okay.” She held out a hand, not quite touching. “What sort of spell would have pulled me through?” 

Stiles frowned. “Some sort of summoning spell, I guess?” He set _Magical Herbs A-J_ on the shelf. 

“Huh. Strange. But no one I know goes here.”

“No?”

She shook her head. “We all went to the Nashville Magical Institute.” 

“Huh.” He put the last book away. “Okay. What book did you want?”

“Who’re you talking to?”

He turned, flushing when he saw Derek Hale at the end of the aisle. “Hey. Um—Michelle. She just needed some help with, um, plane of the living stuff.” He braced for him to look awkward or disgusted. 

Derek instead followed his gaze and offered a polite smile. “Hello. How are you?”

Michelle smiled in response. “He’s very polite.”

“Yeah,” Stiles mumbled. “Hey, let me try something.” 

Derek glanced at him, brows raised. “Okay.” 

Stiles muttered, “ _Visum pars_.” A shiver ran through him; he saw Derek jump. Stiles’s vision wavered, then settled as part of his vision flowed toward Derek. 

Derek stumbled, catching himself on a shelf. “What did you—oh.” He blinked at Michelle, able to see her. “Hello,” he said again. 

She smiled back, wide and delighted. “Hello. Your life force is so thoughtful.”

He looked surprised but not by much. “Thank you. Is life force the same as aura?”

She shook her head. “No. Your auras are…hmm.” She smiled again, glancing at the space between them, possibly where their auras were close together. 

Stiles smiled back at her. “Our auras are what?”

She hummed and shook her head. “Oh, never mind. So, what’s your name?”

“Derek.”

“What brings you to the library at this hour?”

“I forgot to return some books that were due on the seventeenth, so I was hoping to avoid a late fee.” He checked his phone. “But it’s past midnight, so I guess it’s moot.” He sighed.

Stiles, feeling fondly toward him for being so casual and cordial with Michelle, said, “I can clear them for you.”

“Don’t do me any-” Derek stopped himself. “That would be nice,” he said with a quick glance at Michelle, as if he didn’t want to be rude in front of her. “Thank you.”

Stiles nodded. “Do you still need those books, Michelle?”

“No, I think I’ll be fine chatting with Derek for a while, if he doesn’t mind.” She glanced at him.

“No problem.” 

“Sure. I just have to put the rest of the returns away, and check in Derek’s books.” He left them talking about classes. He was glad Derek hadn’t asked her how she’d died; that was incredibly rude in the ghost community. 

After checking Derek’s books in and clearing the late fees, he went to reshelf them and some others he found lurking in the corner where Terry usually tossed stuff. He found Abigail fast asleep at her table. 

“Hey.” He nudged her chair lightly.

She sat up hard, an imprint of her pen on her cheek. “What? What?”

“You need to go home, dude.”

“No, no, I should work more.” She reached for her pen, then yawned so hard her jaw popped. “I have to have this finished by—by…” She looked at her phone. “By Wednesday.” 

“Well, you have time, then. The whole weekend, plus Monday and Tuesday, to work on it.” 

She nodded, swallowing hard. “Right. You’re right. Thanks.”

“No problem. I already checked those books out on your account for you, so you can just take them home with you.” 

“Thank you for your help.” She stretched, her back popping, and started gathering her stuff. “Goodnight.” 

“’Night.” He waited until she had left, then went to find Derek and Michelle. 

They were in the aisle he’d left them in, chatting about familiars, sitting on the floor. Derek glanced up at Stiles, his expression guarded. Whatever he’d said, he was clearly worried about being overheard. 

Michelle smiled. “Stiles, I’m actually missing my friends. Would you mind-?”

He jumped a little. “Of course, sure. Um.” He flushed, but it had to be said— “We just have to go to the desk. I still have to use a surface to create portals.” It felt silly to admit, like the words were forcing him to admit how young he was. 

Michelle didn’t mock him. “That’s normal, and I appreciate it.” 

He nodded and turned around, leaving them to either stay behind or follow him. He could, of course, sense Michelle, but Derek was a surprise when he stopped at the desk and found them both. “Um, so—I’ll just…” He flicked a glance at Derek, who was both watching avidly and trying not to seem interested at once. Stiles realized he’d never had an audience, just focused on _him_ , who wasn’t family, a friend, or a teacher. 

He turned toward the window and swiped a hand over it. The familiar feeling of the portal yawning open was comforting. He focused on that, leaning his own magic into it until it widened, wards gleaming orange all along the edges. He heard someone inhale sharply. He didn’t turn. The portal spread over most of the window by the time it was big enough for Michelle’s energy. He half turned toward her. “There you go,” he said.

She smiled again. “Thank you very much. Both of you. The living world is pretty overwhelming, so thanks for the company.” She glanced between them and covered her mouth, eyes gleaming with badly concealed mirth. “Good luck, guys. I’d better be off. Thanks.” She stepped through the desk, patting Stiles on the shoulder, and went through the portal.

The portal closed, and the shared sight spell broke, like a rubber band snapping in Stiles’s head. 

Derek shuffled back awkwardly. “I’ve never seen a single portal up close before.” He cleared his throat. “Thanks,” he muttered. “For the late fees and-and the spell.” 

“You said hello to her before you could see her,” Stiles replied. 

“So?” Derek snapped, looking defensive suddenly. “It’s polite-”

“I know.” Stiles sighed tiredly. “Never mind. Have a good night, Hale.” There wasn’t anything to it; it _was_ just polite. That was no reason to forget what a _dick_ Derek could be. Stiles left the desk to dust some shelves, and by the time he wound his way back, Derek was gone.

 

The party Saturday night was…loud. Loud and crowded full of witches trying to impress each other. It took twenty minutes of dancing and whispering for Scott and Kira to start making out and slip away from the crowd. Stiles planted himself on the couch after getting groped once too many times. The worst part was none of the people doing the groping seemed to even noticed they were doing it. 

Some loud, bright pop song started as soon as he was settled, making him sigh. Someone spilled beer on his shoes, shouted an apology, and tried a spell to clean it up. Water gushed over his feet. 

The guy’s drunken face became more distressed. “No, no, not _defaeco_ , _dur-_ ”

“Stop!” Stiles held up a hand. “I’ve got it, bud, no big deal.” 

Drunk Guy’s face lit up. “Awesome, dude. Sorry about that.” He left looking pleased with himself.

Stiles sighed and waved a hand at his foot, muttering “ _duro_.” He wondered if he’d be a bad friend if he left early. He and Scott had arrived together, but now that he was preoccupied with Kira, he got the feeling Scott had forgotten about him. Which was par for the course with Scott, really. He didn’t mean it. He was just…a diehard romantic. 

Stiles scanned the crowd for Allison, or Danny, or anyone to talk to, but all he saw were other students he rarely spoke to. 

Someone sat to his right. 

Lydia Martin was wearing a delicate white shirt printed with roses and a pale pink mini skirt. She looked decidedly out of place on the rough, stained brown couch. “You look bored.” 

He snorted. “Understatement. And,” he rolled his gaze from her perfectly styled hair to her gleaming heels, “pot, kettle.” 

She smoothed her skirt. “I was _supposed_ ,” she emphasized the word dangerously, “to be going to dinner. Apparently this party was not to be missed.” Her eyes flitted from the couch to the scuffed, cluttered coffee table in front of them, to the drunk group in the middle of the floor, from there to the mediocre light show put on by people too drunk or unpracticed to perform good magic. Her gaze was quite damning.

Stiles laughed. “Yeah, obviously. Who doesn’t want to smell like smoke, beer, and bad magic?”

Her mouth, gleaming different colors from the magic, curled up. “It _is_ bad magic. I’m embarrassed for whoever did it.”

“Should we fix it?” Stiles lifted his hands. At least that was something interesting to do.

Lydia shook her head. “We can do better than that. Do you have a pen?” She leaned toward the coffee table, plucking a napkin from the pile of debris. 

“Uh. No.” 

She shot him a disapproving look before unearthing one from the mess of the coffee table. She tested it on a magazine page before setting it on the napkin. As she wrote, purple sparks flew from the tip.

“Ugh, I never understood how that worked. Math is so cold and logical, and magic…isn’t.” 

“Math is a universal language,” Lydia said. “Even in the magical community. With the right equation, you can do anything.” Her eyes gleamed like she was going to make it her life’s work to prove it.

“Still.” He shrugged. “I just never got it, I guess.”

“It’s simple to me.” She sighed and leaned back, satisfied. “There. _Now_ it’ll be a party.” The equation, which looked frankly intimidating, took up most of the napkin, ink glowing faintly purple. She folded it in half, then again, until it was as small as she could make it. She scribbled a number on the outside, if her handwriting could ever be called a scribble, and tossed it with perfect aim into the dim magical light show.

It popped open like a flower blooming in high speed. Lights exploded out from the napkin, blooming into roses of all colors; varicolored glitter began to fall from the cloud of magic like pixie rain.

Lydia looked smug when people started cheering.

“Very impressive,” Stiles told her.

“I know.” 

“You like mathamancy more than your affinity, huh?”

She sniffed. “Transmutation is basically illusions. Mathamancy has a real effect on the world.”

Stiles shrugged. “With enough practice, Transmutators _can_ make permanent change, though. You’ve got to admit that’s pretty interesting, too.”

She picked up the pen and squeezed her fingers around it. 

While he watched, the pen shuddered, losing its shape and reforming instantly into a long stemmed yellow rose. She handed it to him.

“Feels real to me.” He ran his thumb along the edges of the petals. 

“Everything always goes back to what it was, Stiles. Don’t buy the illusion.” She wasn’t looking at him, but the rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update on the 24th if I can wait that long hahaha.
> 
> Also, though I feel like it's unnecessary to point out, I use google translate for the Latin and whatever other languages, so just...don't judge too harshly on that, lol. I tried my best but languages are not my forte.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I love this chapter. *-* I hope you do, too! <3 Let me know what you think!

Stiles finished his essay on the use of talismans in daily life on Sunday afternoon. He flicked a finger down Lemmy’s foreleg as the document saved. “Done, buddy. Let’s get some treats.” 

Lemmy leaped up and ran for the basket by the door that his stuff was kept in. 

Stiles laughed and got up, stretching and shuffling his way over to the basket. 

Lemmy sat under Scott’s desk, staring and swishing his tail as Stiles rifled through the food and toys to find the bag of treats. 

“You get two for being so well behaved and for inspiring me. Or something. You’re so spoiled. You’ll be like thirty pounds by the time the semester is over.” He moved a fluffy mouse off to the side and had just found the red bag when the door flew open, knocking him right off his feet. “Ow, Scott, what the-”

“Hide me!” Scott wheezed. He slammed the door and flipped the lock, bending over his knees and laughing. 

Stiles, still sprawled on the floor, glared up at him. “ _Ow!_ ” 

“Oh, sorry.” Scott wiped his eyes and helped Stiles to his feet. 

“Who are you running from?”

“ _Open up, McCall!_ ” 

“Is that…Randall?” Stiles asked, rubbing his hip where it’d slammed into Scott’s chair. 

Scott bit his lip, looking a little deranged and ecstatic. “Um. Maybe.” 

“What did you do?”

He broke out laughing again. “Okay, okay, um, remember that, um, that time your jeep got caught in the crossfire of a paintball fight?”

“Y _es_ ,” Stiles replied slowly, eyes narrowing at the memory. 

“And remember that dry ingredients potion I asked you to help me with?” His grin widened impossibly. 

“ _Scott_ ,” Stiles gasped. 

Outside, Randall began cursing; something made an angry squawking noise. 

“Um…Surprise! It worked.” 

In the hall, the squawking got louder, turning into a honking noise. Flapping and panicked yelping filled the hall, scuffling like Randall was running from something. 

Stiles stepped closer. “How did you-”

“Well, Charlie always uses, like, _all_ the hot water on the entire floor, so I just snuck into their room while they were out and put the dry sachet in their shower head.” He beamed, looking far too proud of himself. 

Stiles opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Stared at him. “That’s actually kind of ingenious.” 

Scott’s beam brightened. “Aw, thanks, dude.”

Randall began banging on their door with the side of his fist. “Open up _now_!” 

Stiles nudged Scott away from the door. “Give Lemmy a couple treats, he earned them.” He stepped around a pair of shoes and went to the door. He swung it open just before Randall knocked again. “What?”

A ruffled, furious goose flapped its way over, squawking.

Randall’s expression was flat. “Change him back.” 

Stiles snorted. “What, you can’t do it?”

Randall flushed. “It’s _McCall’s_ magic, why can’t he do it?”

“Actually, Stiles put it together. He knows everything.” Scott grinned, straightening up from giving Lemmy his treats. 

“I was an unwitting accomplice.” Stiles held his hands up. “Besides, he’ll turn back soon. It wears off, it’s just a party potion.” 

“Okay, but I told you to change him back _now_.” 

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “And I said he’ll change back on his own. Bye.” Stiles slammed the door in his face. He turned to Scott, brows lifted. “Why did you drag _me_ into this?”

“Because you’re better at party potions than me,” Scott snickered. 

Stiles shook his head. “You’re a terrible friend. You know that?”

Lemmy, tired of both of them, curled up in Stiles’s open closet. 

Randall went suspiciously quiet; Charlie could still be heard honking furiously. 

“Allison and Cora are coming over in a few for homework and to work on our Infused Magic projects,” Stiles said, giving up. “Maybe we should fix him before then, just end this before it escalates.” 

“They got _paint_ in the jeep’s _wheel wells._ ” 

Stiles scowled at the reminder. “He’ll turn back eventually.”

Scott crowed victoriously.

 

They kept their door closed and locked while they cleared their desks off and made space for studying. Normally they left it open while they were inside and awake, but fear of retaliation made them nervous. Also, Charlie was still a goose. Geese were vicious birds, and Charlie was already kind of a dick. 

“Should we open the door for them?” Scott asked, eyeing the lock warily.

Stiles shook his head. “We’ll just wait until they knock, just in case.” 

“Cool. Should we get some drinks?”

“Sure, get some Gatorade from my fridge. Since we’re _studying_.” He lifted his brows.

Scott shrugged. “Sure, okay.”

The girls knocked a minute later. “Why is your door locked?” Allison called. “You said today, right?”

“Is that a _goose_?” Cora Hale’s voice reminded Stiles of Derek; not the sound of it itself so much as the _tone_ of utter disdain just under the surprise. 

“Uh-”

Scott lunged across the room and threw the door open. “Quick!” He waved a pillow case at Charlie-the-goose until he moved away, flapping his wings and squawking. “Come in!”

Allison lifted her brows and stepped around him, heading straight for Stiles’s desk chair and dropping her bag beside it. She sat down and held her arms out, smiling when Lemmy jumped into her lap.

Cora leaned over Scott’s shoulder to watch the goose. She was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, her hair tied back loosely, with a green backpack slung over her shoulder; she looked nothing like her brother, light haired and relaxed, like she wasn’t going to argue with Stiles about every possible topic he broached. 

“Close the door before he gets in!” Stiles ordered. “When he changes back, he’ll be naked.”

Cora jerked back, her face twisting in disgust. 

Scott closed the door, collapsing heavily against it. “Phew. So—studying?”

“Um, _no_ ,” Allison scoffed, sharing a look with Cora like ‘can you believe this?’ She’d known Stiles and Scott since high school and should not have been so surprised by this. “Why is there a goose?” she demanded. She stroked Lemmy’s back absentmindedly, making him purr.

Stiles shot Scott a dark look. “Scott decided to have some fun with our across the hall neighbors. They’re not happy.”

Cora frowned. “So he…turned one of them into a goose?” She looked at Scott appraisingly, like she’d underestimated him. 

“No, it’s just a party potion.”

“Stiles made it,” Scott bragged. 

“Dude, don’t blame me, you did it.” Stiles flopped onto the edge of his bed. “He told me it was for a class,” he complained, pulling at a blue thread.

Cora snorted and eased back, moving to sit at Scott’s desk. She flicked a crumpled paper off to the side. 

“So!” Allison leaned around Lemmy to pick up her bag. “Infused Magic projects first?”

“Yes.” Stiles grabbed his cup. “I emptied it, but we can use water to test if it’s working.”

“Nice. You should try the _calefacio_ spell on the inside twice before you try infusing the lid,” Cora said. “I noticed yours doesn’t retain heat like ours, but that you were concentrating on the bottom and the lid.” 

“Huh. Thanks.” Stiles hadn’t really gotten to know Cora since she became Allison’s familiar. 

The two of them had become friends the past two years, then, when Allison asked Cora to be her familiar, they’d gone through the bond ritual before school had started this year. She was nice enough, nowhere near as annoying as her brother. 

They all worked diligently for an hour; Scott only complained about having chosen to enchant a planner rather than a travel mug like them for ten minutes. When they finished, it was still with plenty of time before lunch. 

“We could get started on our gen spells essays,” Scott suggested. 

“We’re a year ahead of you in that,” Cora pointed out. 

“We could help each other!”

“You mean _we_ could help _you_.” Ah, there was the family resemblance between Cora and Derek. 

Allison muffled a laugh. “How about we practice warding? Stiles can show us portal wards.”

Stiles grimaced, turning his head to hide it. “Yeah, I could-”

The door burst open and something flew in; it crashed to the floor in the middle of the room, soaking them with water. 

“Payback!” Randall shouted, and hurled another water balloon.

Scott lurched to his feet, threw his hands up, and said, “ _Madefio_ ,” before Stiles could stop him.

Water gushed over the floor and rushed like a river toward Randall and Charlie, soaking the rug. 

Lemmy made a distressed noise and leaped into Scott’s closet, climbing his shirts until he was wedged safely near the ceiling.

“ _Scott!_ ” Stiles and Allison shouted at once. “Elemental mastery is not _madefio_ ,” Allison seethed. Water was still rushing around their ankles. “You can’t control a soak!” 

Cora rose to her feet like a dripping, avenging angel and swept a hand over her shirt. Water gathered to her palm like she was magnetized, until she had enough to make it the size of a softball. 

“Oh, shit.” Randall bolted, but Charlie got it right in the face. 

“Nice!” Allison high-fived her. Then she turned on Scott. “Aren’t you taking Elemental Works?” she demanded, looking incredibly disapproving.

He winced. “Yes.”

“Then you should _at least_ be onto water now.”

“Stilinski!” someone in the hall yelled, and then water was spraying into the room, dousing them all indiscriminately. 

Allison leaped back, knocking into Stiles’s desk and nearly sending his laptop crashing to the floor. 

“Oh my god!” Stiles lurched into the hall and screwed up his face. “ _Marlena!_ ” 

She laughed raucously. “You look like a pissed off raccoon.” 

He reached back, pulling water from the minor flood Scott had caused. 

Marlena didn’t have time to dodge. She took the spray to the chest and face and howled with rage. Her curls flattened to her head, making her look like a drowned cat. “Oh, it’s _on_ ,” she seethed. 

“We’ve got reinforcements coming!” Cora called, laughing when Scott slipped in his own mess. 

The whole floor was siding with Randall and Charlie, except Tessa, who was out and therefore blissfully unaware of the water fight.

“We’re way outnumbered,” Scott gasped when they rounded the corner to hide by the stairwell. He bent over his knees to catch his breath. 

“You think?” Stiles leaned around him and sent water sloshing over Arlene and Josh’s shoes, making them scream. 

“We’ve got help,” Cora said. “They’re almost here.” 

Before Stiles could ask who, the door to the stairwell burst open. 

Isaac Lahey, Zach Clark, two fourth years Stiles didn’t know, and Derek came in, lobbing oversized water balloons. 

“Ha!” Allison rushed over to the fourth years, who had two buckets full of empty water balloons waiting to be filled. 

“Yes!”

“Thanks,” Cora gasped, pausing to squeeze Derek’s arm before lunging toward the buckets. 

Derek was surprisingly…fun, when he wasn’t arguing with Stiles. He had no problem getting wet like Stiles had expected him to; he didn’t have magic to fill the water balloons himself, but he was crafty and quick, and managed to snag one of the water guns from Charlie, who slipped, saw Derek standing over him, and ran. 

“Here.” Stiles touched the tank of the water gun, refilling it with an effort that he tried to hide. “Thanks.”

Derek grinned at him and started dousing their classmates. 

Scott raced by and pelted Charlie and Randall with balloons a minute later. His war cry sounded giddy, until he slipped with a yelp, knocking into Stiles and sending him flying for the second time.

Cora caught his arm before he could face plant. 

“Thanks.” He straightened up, wishing his shoes had better grips.

Cora swept a hand over his shoulder; his shirt dried as she pulled the water from it. “You’re not as annoying as Derek says you are.”

“Gee, thanks.” He rubbed the hem of his shirt between his fingers. “Okay, how did you do that?”

“Same way you grab it from the floor. Don’t use your magic to create it, just…use your magic like a _bucket._ ” She twisted and hurled the water ball at Marlena, who shrieked and ran, dripping, for cover. 

“Thanks,” he said again. He’d try it later. 

The RA for their floor, Brad Sargent, was _furious_ , when he saw the mess. “Everyone who doesn’t live here better go, or I’m going to find _your_ RA and let them know what you did.”

There was a mad scramble as people fled. 

“Sorry,” Allison whispered, sneaking past. “My parents want to have lunch. They have a ‘surprise’ for me.”

Stiles waved her off. “Don’t worry about it, just go.”

She nodded her thanks and ran to where Cora was waiting for her by the stairs. 

“Who started this?” Brad demanded, looking desperate. 

Randall and Charlie started yelling at the same time as Scott and Stiles. 

Everyone had to help clean up; thankfully most electronics were impervious to magical accidents these days, so the real issues were the floors and bedding. 

Since Brad was pretty chill about pranks—meaning if no one got hurt and everyone cleaned up—no one spoke of expulsion or talking to the Heads, thankfully. 

“Dude,” Scott said, grinning, when the only thing left to clean was the decorative throw rug Melissa had sent them. 

“That was fun,” Stiles admitted. He let Scott dry the rug, climbing over the chairs to get to Scott’s closet. The accordion door was closed, somehow, with the bed pressed flush against it. He shoved the bed, stripped of its sheets and blankets, away first, then slid the door open. 

Lemmy leaped out and clung to Stiles’s chest, ruffled and indignant. His brown fur was sticking up all over, like he was trying to intimidate the water. 

“Yeah, Scott’s an idiot, I know,” he said soothingly, running his hand down Lemmy’s back until his fur started to lie flat again.

“Oh, he’s fine. A little water never hurt him.” Scott’s face looked anxious and guilty, so Stiles silently forgave him.

Outwardly, he had to pry Lemmy’s claws out of his shirt to avoid ripping it too badly. “So why did Allison’s parents come up again? Weren’t they here last month?”

Scott nodded, suddenly looking grim. ‘They said they felt like she didn’t seem very motivated last time, and that they were bringing a surprise this time, to help her get focused.” He shrugged. “She said she doesn’t know what it is.”

“Huh.” Stiles set Lemmy on his own bed, now covered in the spare red sheet set and blanket he kept in his closet. The orange and blue set were in the hamper now, thanks to Scott. 

“Cora seems nice.” Scott tried to sit on Stiles’s bed, but hopped up looking hurt when Lemmy hissed at him.

“Yeah. Well, she seems cool, anyway. Allison gets along with her.”

Scott nodded. “They work great together, too. They were _animals_ out there.” Then he winced at the implication of that. “Not, like, actual…you know what I meant.” 

“Right.” Stiles sighed heavily. “Want to grab some lunch, then get started on our gen spells stuff?”

Scott grimaced. “Yeah, we’d probably better.” He looked at his phone for the time, winced.

“I’ll go get us food. You start. I got a start on mine yesterday,” he added when Scott looked guilty. 

“Okay, thanks. Wait, what are you doing your report on?”

“The correct use of _duro_ , obviously,” Stiles snorted. He grabbed his wallet and keys, running a hand over Lemmy’s back before he left. He stopped at the jeep to get his spare backpack, which he’d kept in the jeep since senior year, after an unfortunate incident involving Scott, some coffee, and a paper tornado. 

He walked to the cafeteria; he’d mostly dried off while cleaning, but the sun felt nice, warming his chilled skin. Nature sensitives with an affinity for water could moderate the temperature of the water they created, but it took a lot more practice for everyone else, and they hadn’t bothered during the water fight. He passed the shifter dorm and grinned, spotting Isaac wringing out his t-shirt in the grass. 

 

Stiles got enough food to feed a small army, loading it all into the backpack before setting out. 

“Hey, Stiles,” Gus Jepson called, waving at him before he could leave. 

“Hey, what’s up?” His phone buzzed, but he ignored it. 

“We were just telling Judith about the water fight you guys had. Did your RA blow a gasket?” He looked simultaneously amused and horrified. Gus followed the rules very carefully, but he wasn’t above enjoying tales of _other_ people breaking them.

“Nah, he just made us clean it up. It was fun.”

Judith rolled her eyes. “Ethan would have freaking _lost it_ if we did that.” She sighed, then brightened. “Ooh, we should set up a Saturday campus wide water balloon fight before it gets too cold!” 

“That’d be awesome.” His phone buzzed in his pocket again, making him cringe. “Sorry, but I’ve got to go—got some homework to finish up.” 

Judith smiled sympathetically. “Right. We’ll set something up soon.”

“Cool.” He stepped outside before he checked his phone. He found about five messages and leaned back against the bricks, settling in. One was from Scott, and the rest were from Allison: ‘ _ **My parents are talking about my lack of motivation.**_ ’

‘ _ **For careers.**_ ’

‘ ** _Stiles. For. Careers._** ’

Then there was a row of exclamation points and: ‘ ** _They brought my Aunt Kate to visit!_** ’

Stiles smiled to himself and replied, telling her to have fun. He’d known Allison for years, but he’d never met her aunt. All he knew was that she was her favorite aunt, and some sort of nature sensitive, but that hadn’t stopped her from learning tracking magic and becoming a bounty hunter. He thought of Lydia Martin. He guessed some people didn’t take to their affinities.

Stiles told Scott that he was on his way back, then tucked his phone away. 

“Hey, Stiles, can I ask you a question?” Janis McGuire asked, sidling up next to him. She was also a Summoner.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Professor Eason wants us practicing same-dimension portals, right?” She didn’t wait for a response. “Right. So do we still have to ward those? Nothing can get out, right? Since it’s this dimension.” 

Stiles’s eyes widened. “Same-dimension or not, it’s still a portal. If it isn’t warded, it could open up to anywhere, let anything out, have you been-”

“No, I haven’t. Marcus owes me twenty bucks, though. Thanks.” She patted his arm and walked away beaming. 

Stiles rolled his eyes and headed in the opposite direction. 

Isaac was still outside as he was passing; when Stiles waved, he grinned and jogged over. “Can I walk with you?”

“Sure. Here.” Stiles held out the bag of chips he’d been munching on. “Thanks for your help earlier. Nice touch with the water balloons.”

He grinned. “Derek’s idea. There’s a Walmart down the road, so when we got Cora’s text, we ran there.” 

They crossed the street toward Stiles’s building—the campus was set up like it’d been designed by a squirrel on a caffeine and Adderall binge—and narrowly avoided being taken out by a shifter on a bike, who flipped them off as he was passing. 

“What did she say?”

Isaac was glaring back at the biker, until Stiles spoke. “Huh?”

“Cora,” he said patiently. “When she texted you.”

“Oh, that. She told us there was a water fight in D* building and to bring help.” He grinned again. 

Stiles was about to ask how he was getting along with Zach when a noise caught his attention. It wasn’t a particularly loud noise, a solid _click-whoosh_ sound, but he half-turned anyway, and stopped, rooted in place. 

Someone screamed, and people were running in every direction, and Stiles was frozen until Isaac took a lurching step toward the shifter dorms. He caught his arm and held on with all his strength. 

The building was partially engulfed in ice-white flames, licking up the sides and seeping through cracks and open windows like smoke.

_That shouldn’t be here,_ Stiles thought with distant horror. He dug his heels in when Isaac tried running to help, fighting to keep him away. _That can’t be here._

“Stiles!” Isaac snarled, so unlike himself that it broke through the wall of Stiles’s terror. 

“Don’t—don’t go near it. It’s demon fire.” Stiles sank his nails into the skin of Isaac’s arm. “Go find teachers or the heads or—Professor Eason. God.” 

Already, older students were trying to put the flames out, looking bewildered when it wasn’t working.

“Someone get Professor Eason!” Stiles shouted. He forced himself to cross the street. He cringed at the scent—demon fire smelled sweet, no matter what it was burning. “Hey—help me.” He grabbed a sixth year. “We have to break a wall. Doors’ll be too hot.”

“There’ll be blowback,” the sixth year warned, flexing her fingers. “The magic and the building’s protections-”

“Don’t care. It’s demon fire,” he snapped. “We have to get them out.”

Her eyes widened. “ _Lacero!_ ” Some bricks blasted away; most upperclassmen didn’t need spoken spells to focus their magic anymore, but in moments of high stress, they would slip.

Stiles performed a shield spell while she blasted apart the wall; the magical blowback rocked the ground, sparks flying under the white flames. He kept his face impassive as the flames licked at his shield, before jumping back to the building. 

Someone else came to help them, lengthening the shield until there was a clear space for shifters to run through. 

People were chanting and an alarm was blaring, sirens screaming in the distance—teachers putting out the flames, fire trucks and ambulances rushing to the scene. 

Stiles held his shield until a police officer nudged him back gently, trying to clear the scene. 

“Stay right here,” a paramedic ordered, wrapping him and several of his classmates in blankets so tightly they couldn’t move if they wanted to.

Stiels blinked and looked around. The building was scorched with white burns that most people wouldn’t be able to identify, shimmering silver smoke rising from it. Shifters milled around, furious or terrified, except two, maybe—they’d been rushed off on gurneys already, leaving Stiles feeling cold with terror. 

An officer stepped over to him. “Hello. I’m going to ask you some questions, okay?”

He nodded, watching someone over his shoulder; a woman with bright yellow curls had stepped out of the passenger side of a police car. Her eyes were locked on the scorch marks. She wasn’t wearing a uniform—just dark pants and a shirt the color of the inside of a watermelon. She had a badge of some kind around her neck, but she clearly wasn’t a police officer. 

“Son. Your name?”

Stiels blinked, looking at the officer. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Stiles Stilinski.”

“Okay—oh.” He blinked, then started to smile. “There wouldn’t happen to be any relation to Sheriff Stilinski, up in Beacon Hills, would there?”

Stiles sighed. “That’s my dad.”

He nodded, smile fading. “He trained me. Come on, we can talk over here, so you can sit. We just need witness statements.” 

He nodded and answered Officer Hanson’s questions as clearly as he could. He let Stiles tell Scott where he was, so Stiles tried not to be too much of a smartass when he asked how Stiles had known it was demon fire.

“I’m a Summoner,” he said dazedly. “We recognize these things.” No, no they didn’t, and it’d only take one question to the woman in pink to prove Stiles a liar, but he didn’t care. 

Officer Hanson nodded. “Alright, that’s all we need, then. Why don’t you go on back to your dorm and relax? Give me a call if you remember anything else.” He passed Stiles a card. 

Stiles nodded and stood; he didn’t leave for a moment, watching the woman as she investigated the building. 

Professor Eason was with her, and their eyes were sort of gleaming—a trick Stiles hadn’t learned yet, to see into other dimensions without opening a portal.

But he _did_ have something they didn’t have. He had a close relationship with someone who might get him some answers. He went back to his dorm building, but he headed for the first floor bathroom instead of his room. He flipped the locks after making sure all the stalls were empty. He glared at the chipped green paint on the stalls for a second, then sighed and spun around.

The mirror was huge, spanning the entire wall above the sinks. Bigger than he would need, probably, but he’d wanted the space, just in case. And relative privacy. Almost no one used these bathrooms when each dorm had their own. 

The portal unfurled from the center of the mirror and spread out like an ink blot. Wards glowed, setting in the painted cinderblocks and porcelain around the mirror’s edges. 

The demon realm appeared before him like he’d flung a window open, swirling colors mixing against a purple sky until he found who he was looking for. “Efeni,” he sighed.

The demon turned, morphing slightly in shape until it—he, Efeni had given Stiles permission to use human pronouns in portal calls—was more solid, a shape that Stiles’s human brain could comprehend. Still, he had several more limbs than a typical human, and many more eyes and mouths. They all smiled at the sight of him. “Stiles!” he said, sounding pleased. He didn’t speak English, but he didn’t need to.

Stiles had no head for languages, but Summoners could always understand and communicate with whatever beings spoke to them, no matter the language. “Hello, Efeni, I-”

“You’re at school, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be studying?” 

Stiles managed a shaky smile. “Yeah, probably.” He sucked in a breath, trying to calm himself down. It probably wasn’t what he thought, he was probably overreacting. 

Efeni was patient with him—had always been patient with him, ever since he was a child and too young to know how to show respect for beings with powers like gods. “What is it? You look afraid.”

“There was a fire,” he blurted. 

Efeni’s face did some twitching that Stiles had long since realized was the demon version of confusion. “A fire? Did you…put it out?”

“No—yes. It was here, on campus, and it was demon fire.”

“ _ **What?!**_ ” The portal rocked; orange flared from the wards, keeping any of Efeni’s sudden rage locked in. He calmed himself and looked at Stiles, eyes blazing. “Explain.” The wards continued to glow brilliantly, almost blinding, which meant he wasn’t as calm as he was pretending to be. 

“There was a demi-demon incident weeks ago, and now—demon fire on one of the dorm buildings. At least two students were seriously injured.” Stiles hadn’t seen Efeni so furious since he was young, since they’d first met. That was under different circumstances, though…Stiles hoped. “Do you—do you know how demon fire would get on this—get here?”

Efeni, trembling with rage, bit out- “A demon possessing someone is the most likely possibility. Ordinarily, witches cannot conjure demon fire, but with a demon’s aide…”

Stiles twisted his hands. “Why is—why are you so angry? Demons make deals and—and possess people.” 

Efeni shook his head. “ _No one_ is supposed to possess underage magic users or on school grounds! It is against the Trials Accords!” 

Stiles blinked. “The what?”

Efeni reined himself in, in the name of education, like he always had. He always told Stiles that learning was important. That he should learn as much as possible. “The Trials Accords are a multidimensional pact to keep us all from wiping each other out. No young magic users under the age of thirty-five shall be possessed or held to deals they might try to make, and no deals or possessing on _any_ school grounds.” His voice trembled with rage, flames licking out around him. “I’m going to look into this immediately.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course. This is a very serious violation of the Accords. And you know that I would help you regardless.” He nodded and stepped back.

“Goodbye.” Stiles let the portal collapse in on itself. He leaned back, crossing his arms. He was shaking a little, probably from the new information. So a demon was probably possessing a student or teacher here. Who? And why would they attack the shifter dorm? It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. 

Scott was pale and worried when Stiles got to their room. He immediately jumped forward, stopping short of grabbing at him. “Are you okay? I was trying to call you, it went straight to voicemail and you weren’t in the hall or the yard or-”

“I was in the bathroom. Sorry.” He swallowed. “Have you heard anything about who was injured?”

“Yeah, three people are in the hospital now. Shifters, a first, fifth, and seventh year.” He sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. 

Stiles sighed, too, relieved. At least they were alive, although that brought more questions than it answered. “At least they’re alive,” he said aloud.

“Yeah.” Scott shuffled his feet. “Someone said it was demon fire.”

“It was.” Stiles bit at his thumb nail. “It was bad.”

“How do you put out demon fire?”

Stiles shook his head. “I’m not really sure.” He sat on his bed.

Scott nodded thoughtfully. “Do you know…I mean…”

Stiles sighed again. “Efeni seemed to think someone was being possessed here.” He frowned when Lemmy jumped into his lap. He started petting him. 

Scott looked too thoughtful for his own good. “Efeni thinks.”

“What?”

“You said _Efeni_ seemed to think. So you don’t?”

“I don’t know what to think.” He flopped backwards, still running a hand over Lemmy’s fur. “It’s just…I’ve never heard of a demon who would hurt but not kill people.” He turned his head when Scott laid next to him. “Demons’ enemies are usually powerful, and more often than not, corrupt. They wouldn’t leave it to chance.” He shrugged. “They like balance. They hate people who upset the balance. This was…”

“Random?”

“Feels that way.” He stared at the ceiling. There was a shoe print from Scott’s sneaker a week ago. They should probably clean that off. “Demons aren’t usually random.”

“No.”

Stiles reached down, then winced. “I think I left my bag and our food outside.”

“Want me to go get it?” Scott sounded worried. 

Stiles smiled and sat up. “Nah, I’m good. I’ll just grab it and be right back.”

“I could go with you.”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t need you to hold my hand as I cross the street, Scott. I’ll be fine.”

Scott smiled, apparently relieved by the attitude. “If you’re sure.”

“Yep.” He set Lemmy on Scott’s lap and got up. His body felt weirdly tired, though he hadn’t done anything particularly strenuous. He shook it off and went downstairs; living on the second-but-really-third floor _sucked._ Especially because the elevator was restricted. Normally the stairs weren’t so bad, but now they felt endless.

Someone with a _very_ familiar Captain America backpack slung over their shoulder was shoving their way outside when Stiles reached the lobby. 

“Hey!” he called, speeding up. The door slapped shut and the dude stalked across the lot. Stiles huffed and started running, calling out, “Hey, douchebag! That’s my-” 

Derek whipped around. Suddenly he was right in front of Stiles, fist bunching in his t-shirt. He slammed him back against the building, cracking his head against the bricks and dazing him. “ _Are you happy now?_ ” he snarled. His teeth were sharp, like an animal, eyes flashing gold briefly. 

“ _What?_ Let go!” Stiles ordered. “Now!”

Derek shot him a disgusted look and dropped his hand. “Do you communicate with demons often?” he asked mockingly. 

Stiles’s face twisted. “What, were you _eavesdropping?_ ” 

Derek scoffed and swung the backpack off his shoulder, shoving it against Stiles’s chest hard enough to bruise. “I was trying to give that back to you. You dropped it outside _our_ dorm.” 

“Yeah, when I was helping people get out!” Stiles dropped the bag to his feet. “You are such an asshole. I was trying to find out what happened. I have a—a…” What was Efeni? “A friend in the demon realm. I wanted to see if he knew anything.” He rubbed absently at the bruise forming on his chest, gaze going distant. “Demons don’t just…attack. Something weird is going on.”

Derek frowned at him. “What about demi-demons?”

Stiles’s fingers spasmed on his shirt. “What about them?” he asked evenly.

Derek’s nostrils twitched. “Do _they_ just attack?”

He frowned. “Yeah. They’re chaotic.”

“Demons aren’t?”

“No,” he mumbled distractedly. “They like balance. But demi-demons can’t make flames that big.” He stared in the direction of the burned dorm. “I’m going to find out what happened.” He blinked when Derek made a noise. “What?”

“Meet me at Irene’s Kitchen tonight after you get off work,” he said flatly. “Around two, right?”

“I—how did you-”

“Be prepared to tell me everything you know,” he warned, and walked away. 

Stiles stared after him. He was _not_ going to meet Derek Hale at an off-campus diner at two AM. He wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up on the 7th! O_O I can't believe it's already almost August??? I'm not ready for Camp NaNo to be over...???? I have not hit word count today or yesterday oh my god.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! I'm nearing the end of this I believe. When I have pre-written up to chapter 20, I will begin posting a chapter a week! When I finish, 2x a week! I hope everyone is still interested! Let me know what you think!

Derek looked weird and washed out in the lurid fluorescent lights of Irene’s Kitchen, glaring at the laminated menu like he could melt it with the force of his gaze. 

Stiles was…not entirely sure how he’d gotten here. He’d left the library with full intentions of going home, but…here he was, with green vinyl scratching the back of his arm, menu flat in front of him on the equally green table top.

Their waitress sidled over. “Hi! I’m Lisette, I’ll be your server tonight! Can I start you off with some drinks?”

After she’d walked away with their drink orders, Derek switched his glare to Stiles. 

“Don’t glare at me. I wasn’t even going to come.”

“Yet you’re here.”

Stiles scowled at him. “I didn’t want to be. I just…” He sighed heavily. “I figured if you wanted to know what I know, there’s no harm in me telling you. So…here I am.” 

Lisette brought their glasses of ice water and chocolate milk before Derek could respond. She took their orders, somehow managing to remain cheerful even while dealing with Derek’s brusque tone. 

Stiles resolved to leave a great tip—or force Derek to. 

“Alright, we’ll get that out to you in a few.” She winked at Stiles and flounced away to give their orders to the cook.

“So?” Derek prompted. “Are you going to tell me what you know or not?”

Stiles glared at him and, just to be annoying, carefully unwrapped his silverware and began folding the little paper wrapper into an origami frog. 

Derek stared at him, silently fuming. His aura was tinged with sparks. Steam would probably start shooting out of his ears any second.

Stiles pressed the tip of his finger down on the back of the frog; it “jumped” across the table, bouncing off Derek’s forearm. 

His glare turned murderous. “Is this a fucking _game_ to you?”

“No.” Stiles sat back. “You’re not a cop, Derek. I told the police everything I knew already. They had a Summoner on scene, one much more experienced than me, so she’ll know even more than I do. I don’t have to tell you _shit_. The only reason I was going to tell you-” he broke off when Lisette returned with their food. 

“Here you go, some waffles and bacon for you, big manly eggs and sausage for you…” She set Derek’s plate in front of him and grinned. “Do y’all need anything else right now?” She set a bottle of syrup by Stiles’s arm.

“No, we’re good. Thank you.”

She beamed and walked away. 

Stiles looked back at Derek, sighing. “The only reason I was going to tell you anything was because you seemed upset, and it was your dorm building, too.”

Derek’s jaw flexed like he was fighting the urge to say something else.

“The white flames were demon fire,” Stiles said when he didn’t respond. “Witches can’t create it on their own, which means a demon was involved somehow. My…friend is looking into it. He thinks that a demon possessed someone here in order to do that.” Stiles cut into his waffles, creating a wide opening, and poured syrup into it. “He’s pissed, because possessing magic users on school grounds or under the age of thirty-five is against the Trial Accords.”

Derek shook his head. “Haven’t heard of those.” 

“It’s a multidimensional pact. Ef—my friend seemed enraged when he thought someone had broken it,” he said casually, as if that wasn’t all he knew, as if he was just summarizing for simplicity. He was going to have to look up the Accords later; if they were as important as Efeni felt they were, the library should have books about them. “It’s strange, though, because I’ve never known demons to go after random college students. Or to leave survivors when they go after people.” 

“And you’ve known a lot of demons.”

Stiles’s fingers clenched around his knife. “No,” he said calmly, keeping his gaze lowered. He should be used to people assuming things about him, but it still got to him every time. “I know one, and he made it a point to educate me on how demons operate, so I was never taken advantage of.” Again. He shook himself and inhaled once, twice, until he could speak evenly. “Look, if you keep insulting me, I’m just going to leave.”

Derek shook his head. “I don’t know any Summoners outside of school. The way people talk—you expect Summoners to have lunch with demons daily.”

Stiles snorted. “Demons have better things to do.”

“But not your friend.”

He twisted his fork around. “He always makes time for me.” He hated how small his voice sounded there.

“Why?”

He drew back. “ _That_ isn’t any of your business.” He took a bite of his waffle, spilling syrup down his chin. “I’m going to find out what’s going on. My friend can help me.”

Derek contemplated that. He started eating, giving his full attention to his meal. 

After they’d both eaten and were nursing cups of decaf coffee, Derek looked like he had something to say. He kept opening his mouth, then scowling. He took a deep breath.

Stiles braced for another insult.

“I want to check out the dorm.”

Stiles relaxed. “Not at three in the morning. You’ll get in trouble or arrested for trespassing.” 

“Together.”

He snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

Derek scowled. “Between the two of us, we should be able to find _something._ ”

“Well, I’m not going tonight,” Stiles grumbled. He refused to acknowledge how easily he’d given in. It was only because he’d wanted to go investigate anyway. “That’s just asking for trouble.”

“But-”

“We can go tomorrow after class. My summoning class ends at five.” He lifted his brows. 

Derek rolled his eyes. “My forestry class ends at five forty-five. I can meet you at the dorm at seven.”

“Sev—fine. We’ll meet there. You’ve got the check, since this was your idea,” he said. He glanced at the total and counted out a tip while Derek was slapping his Visa on the table. He tossed the folded bills on the table and got out of the booth. He slung his bag over his shoulder. “See you.” He shot him a sarcastic salute and left, calling out to Lisette on his way out the door. “You were wonderful! Your tip is on the table, don’t let him take it.”

She laughed. “Thanks! Come back and see us soon.” 

Stiles waved and ducked out. A glance at his phone had him grimacing. He had to be up in four hours. At least he knew Derek wouldn’t get any more sleep than he would. 

Scott was sleeping when he got back to the dorm, thankfully, though he did wake slightly to slur a goodnight at Stiles. He shushed him and took his jeans and shoes off; he could stand the diner smell on his t-shirt at this rate. Lemmy was curled up on his pillow when he got in bed, so he ended up huddled by the wall before he passed out. 

 

Stiles nearly fell asleep in Infused Magic; Professor James was talking, and Phys Ed had wiped him out on top of him being tired. Scott kept shooting him worried looks, which he ignored. He was too tired to reassure him. 

“Dude,” Cora whispered, making him jump. She’d somehow moved into the seat behind his, though she usually sat near the middle with Allison. 

“What?” he grumbled.

She leaned over and set a 5-Hour Energy on his desk. “You look like you can use that.” 

He half turned so he could see her face. “Thanks.”

She nodded and leaned back, but remained in the seat behind his until class ended. 

Professor Eason looked exhausted, and told them to turn in their homework before switching on a documentary about Summoners through history. Stiles decided to save the energy shot until after class and tried to focus on the movie. 

“Stiles, dude.” Marlena nudged him. She pinched his shoulder when he just grumbled.

“What?” he muttered, finally opening his eyes. 

The rest of the class was packing up, the lights were back on, and Marlena was giving him a speculative look. “Are you okay? Why are you so tired?”

He rubbed his eyes. “I’m fine. I just—worked last night. For Terry.”

Her concerned expression melted away. “That guy is such a lazy ass. _He_ doesn’t have classes on Mondays, that’s why Valerie puts him on Sunday nights.” She picked up her bag. “Come on. I have enough time to walk you to the dorms before I have to meet Chelsea.”

Stiles shook himself and got up, stretching his arms above his head. “I’ll be fine once I’m moving. Plus, I’ve got coffee and Scott at home to keep me awake.”

She eyed him suspiciously. She sighed. “Alright. But text me when you get there.”

“Yes, _Grandma_ ,” he said even though he was secretly touched. 

“Don’t be a jerk. Just—go take a nap or something.”

He waved before he left, feeling guilty. He didn’t normally sleep through classes, especially this one. But since Eason had put on a movie, it probably wasn’t a big deal. She’d probably been sleeping at her desk, too. 

Marginally calmer, Stiles stopped by the cafeteria for some food on his way home. He chugged the energy shot, too, though he knew it would make him jittery in the long run. 

Scott was at the clinic for the evening, so Stiles wasn’t worried about giving him an excuse about where he was. He didn’t get home until around nine; Stiles should be home by then. 

He showered and changed into an old pair of jeans and t-shirt, since they might get ruined. He still had another hour before he was due to meet Derek when he was finished, so he started on his homework, but couldn’t concentrate. 

Lemmy meowed plaintively.

Stiles spun in his chair, thrilled. “Want to play?”

Lemmy stared.

Stiles took that as a yes and went to get the toy Scott called ‘the feather toy’ and Stiles called ‘cat fishing’. Scott didn’t find that funny. 

 

By the time seven rolled around, Lemmy was stretched out on Scott’s bed, exhausted from playing, and Stiles was ready to climb the walls. He left a note for Scott that he’d gone for a walk, just in case, and silenced his phone before leaving. All he needed was his phone ringing while trespassing on a crime scene. 

The police were done with the building, but there was still “Crime Scene: Do Not Cross” tape everywhere when Stiles got there. It would probably take a few days before everything could be repaired. Stiles felt guilty that he hadn’t even wondered where the shifters were staying while their building was off-limits. It was only first and second years, and a few upperclassmen RAs—familiars and witches shared dorm rooms—but that was still quite a few displaced students. 

“You’re late.”

Stiles jumped. “God! Are you _trying_ to kill me?”

“No. We said seven.”

“No, _you_ said seven. I’m only five minutes late.”

Derek rolled his eyes. He was wearing tight black jeans and a black t-shirt, like the world’s most obvious and clichéd cat burglar. 

Stiles started humming the _Pink Panther_ theme song.

Derek crossed his arms. “Are you going to take this seriously or not?”

“Dude, are _you_? You’re dressed like an amateur.”

“You’re wearing a shirt with the _Batman_ symbol on it.” 

“Yeah, and I could be a nosy student poking around a crime scene. You look like someone trying to swipe valuables to hock at the nearest pawn shop.” 

It was dark, but Stiles was pretty sure Derek blushed. Point to Stilinski.

“Let’s go in. Standing around is going to draw attention.” Stiles brushed past him and marched toward the door.

It was locked, and sealed with caution tape besides, but Stiles knew plenty of lock-picking spells. He’d picked up a few things, hanging out at the sheriff’s department as a kid. He crouched in front of the door, eyeing the keyhole.

Derek scoffed and reached around him, his bicep just brushing Stiles’s cheek before he jerked away. He grasped the door handle and yanked; the metal frame groaned and bent, and the door opened.

“Damn. Good job. Thanks.” Stiles stood and tried to back up so the door could open further. He ended up stepping on Derek’s foot and knocking their shoulders together. He cursed and moved left, out of the way. “Sorry,” he muttered, embarrassed.

Derek just pulled the door open and stepped in. 

Stiles followed.

Derek stopped just inside the door, looking around with a mixture of disgust and dismay. The building was dark and warm, partially destroyed; the scorch marks were still smoking, just short of too hot to touch. It would take days for them to cool naturally, Stiles knew. There were probably spells that could do it faster, though. The cloyingly sweet scent of demon fire still hung in the air, like someone had burned a bunch of flowers and fruit. 

“Why does it smell like that?” Derek muttered. He frowned at a scorched wall beside him. “Wouldn’t demon fire smell…”

“Evil?” Stiles glanced at him, wearing a hard sort of smirk only because he knew Derek could see him in the dark.

“Where do the misconceptions come from, then, if they aren’t?” he snapped.

Stiles shrugged and stepped over what was probably a table of some kind. “Religion? Misunderstandings? Demons make deals, they possess people, carry out the deal. Does that make them evil, or the person who asked them to do something terrible?”

“What do they get out of the deals?”

“Whatever’s offered. That’s usually how a deal works.” Stiles shrugged. He was walking ahead of Derek now, barely able to keep his feet under him. “They don’t have things there that we have here, so there’s always something.” He tripped over what felt like a chair and nearly went sprawling onto his face.

Derek caught the back of his shirt. 

He straightened up, heart pounding. “Thanks.” He swallowed. “Would you walk in front? I can’t see anything.”

“There’s a spell for that, isn’t there?” Derek sounded smug, but he moved to walk in front all the same.

“Yeah, but.” Stiles _hated_ that he felt his face going red; it was stupid. He cleared his throat. “I haven’t quite managed it.” It was dumb to be embarrassed; a night vision spell was advanced. Most witches his age couldn’t do it. 

They continued toward the stairs, which were blocked by stacked furniture. They moved it together while Stiles wondered how and why it had happened. 

“Trying to block people in?” In the scant glow of half-melted emergency lights, Derek looked troubled. “Were they blocked when you were trying to get out?”

“What?” Derek snapped.

“The stairs. Were they blocked like this when-”

“I was outside when the fire started.” He flung a chair out of the way and dragged the door open.

The stairwell was closed in and pitch black. “Maybe we should stay down here.”

“I heard them say the fire originated on the third floor.”

Stiles was gratified to hear that Derek didn’t sound too keen to ascend the dark stairs, either. Shifter night vision only worked as long as there was some sort of light somewhere. He shook his hands. “Okay, don’t make fun,” he whispered.

“What-”

“ _Nocturnumque_.” A muted orange ball of light formed in his palm. The bleak walls lit up, exposing more scorch marks. “I used this a lot when I was a kid. I was afraid of the dark,” he admitted. He wasn’t ashamed, mostly because he’d overcome that fear. 

Derek grunted. He wasn’t looking at the light. “Lead the way, then,” he muttered. 

Stiles sighed and headed up. The shifter dorm was set up identically to his and Scott’s: the first floor was a lobby, with all the rooms beginning on the second floor, continuing to the third and fourth. 

The third floor had a strange chill as soon as they opened the door. Stiles’s fingers flexed around the ball of light, casting strange shadows on the wall. 

Doors hung open, belongings strewn over the floor as the occupants fled to safety. 

Some of it was charred or broken; Stiles felt bad for not realizing how much damage some people had taken. He used the toe of his sneaker to flip over a book, but the cover was too burned to read. 

“Sorry,” he found himself saying. “I guess your things got ruined, too.”

“It’s just stuff.” Derek kicked a bag out of his way. “I’m more worried about the three people in the hospital. That’s why _I’m_ looking.” 

Stiles bristled at the implication. “I’m sorry for them, too! But moping about it-”

“ _Moping_ -”

“—isn’t going to help anyone-”

“You aren’t trying to _help_ -”

“Excuse me!”

They stopped mid-argument.

An appalled elderly woman stood a few feet away, her brows raised in apparent shock.

Stiles glanced at Derek, brows raised, when he noticed he was looking over her shoulder. “How did you hear her?” he asked, surprised. 

“Hear who?” Derek snapped.

“Oh, that was my doing, dear,” the woman said. “I called through the veil. We can do that with practice, you know. You’re both awfully young to be so angry.”

“Huh.”

“What is it?” Derek growled.

Stiles glared at him. “She is standing right there.” He refused to share sight with someone who referred to ghosts as _it_. He looked back at the woman. “How’d you get here?” he asked kindly.

She shook her head. “I’m not sure. I was enjoying a nice afternoon with my husband—he just arrived, and we’re catching up—and then I was here.”

Stiles frowned. Could someone be summoning on accident? He couldn’t imagine it, but it was…possible, he guessed. “I can send you back.”

She smiled. “Would you? I’d truly appreciate it.”

“Of course. I need a mirror.”

She pointed at an open door just three away from where they were standing. “That room has one that isn’t too badly broken.”

“That’ll work.” He walked side by side with her to the room, leaving Derek to decide whether he wanted to follow or not.

The room was a mess; there was a bunch of junk strewn over the scorched floor, one of the beds was overturned, and on the far wall, leading outside, was an enormous hole. It was about four feet wide and five tall, not quite touching the floor or ceiling. Most of the furniture in the room had survived despite the mess, Stiles noticed. There was a tall mirror hanging on the back of the bathroom door, cracked down the middle with smoke damage along the bottom. Stiles could still use it.

He shivered when a breeze blew in through the hole in the wall; he noticed Derek standing in the open doorway and scowled. “Don’t just stand there. At least come all the way in.”

Derek rolled his eyes and came in, though he didn’t seem interested in what Stiles was doing. He bypassed him to investigate the scorches on the intact parts of the wall. 

Stiles looked at the mirror.

The portal opened slowly, spreading from one corner of the mirror to the others, yawning open like a chasm. “There you go. That should be wide enough.”

The ghost touched Stiles’s arm. “Thank you, sweetheart. Take care.”

“You, too.”

She brushed a kiss over his cheek and stepped through the portal.

“Are mirrors your medium?” Derek was watching him, leaning against the desk next to the hole.

“Yeah.” Stiles stepped out of the bathroom and rubbed his face. “Doorways were my mom’s,” he said, and immediately regretted it. Why would he tell Derek that? It wasn’t like he’d care.

Derek nodded, then jerked a thumb at the hole. “This was made from the inside.”

“What?” Stiles surged forward. “How can you tell?”

“Do you see any bricks in here?”

He glowered at him. “ _No_ , but that doesn’t mean they weren’t obliterated by a spell or something.” 

Derek nodded again. “They’re outside. The edges are hot.” 

Stiles leaned closer; he could feel the heat from the edges of the hole, just shy of unbearable. He brushed a fingertip over the jagged edges, shuddering. “Do you know whose room this is?”

“Two first years, but they weren’t here.”

Stiles looked at the top curve of the opening. He couldn’t smell anything but the demon fire, but maybe Derek could. “Do you think someone else was in here?” he asked carefully.

“Yeah. I could smell magic even before you sent that ghost home.” Derek moved closer, head tipped back to follow Stiles’s gaze. “What are you looking for?”

“Wards. I think this was a summoning circle.”

Derek had just opened his mouth to speak when he lurched forward, eyes going impossibly wide.

Stiles grabbed his arm instinctively as he flew past; he was _heavy_. He slammed against the outside of the building, doubling Stiles over with his weight. Hot, sharp bricks pressed into Stiles’s ribs, his shoulder wrenching painfully.

Derek met his gaze. “Let me fall,” he ordered.

“Third. Floor,” Stiles grunted. He clenched his jaw, focusing on bracing himself against his side of the wall. He planted his feet and stiffened his spine. “Try to-” and then something was pushing _Stiles_ out; they were both airborne. 

Derek twisted while they were falling, but Stiles didn’t have time to figure out what he was doing. He saw the ground rushing up at them and gasped, “ _Cirueo_ ,” squeezing his eyes shut. 

Something cool and soft wrapped around them. The impact with the ground was cushioned by the spell; Derek grunted with surprise. 

After a second, they tumbled gently into the grass. Stiles realized, when he landed on top of him, that Derek had curled himself around him, so that he would have hit the ground first. “Thanks,” he managed, rolling off him. He landed on his back and stayed there so he could catch his breath. His ribs and shoulder both burned from strain; at least, he thought so until he saw the hole burned through his shirt from the hot bricks. 

“For what?” Derek muttered. He cleared his throat. “Thank _you_.”

“It’s an easy spell.”

“No.” Derek sat up and looked down at him. “Thank you for catching me.” His gaze flicked to the hole in his shirt, the exposed, reddened skin. “Does that hurt?”

Stiles wasn’t going to answer such an obvious question. He heaved himself up. “Come on. We have to go see who pushed us.” 

Derek shook his head. “They’re gone by now.” He frowned at the building, and then his face twitched. “Never mind. Someone is moving around in there,” he said, barely moving his mouth. He flinched, then ran for the door.

“Derek!” Stiles chased him. Splitting up wasn’t a good idea, not after being shoved from a building. Whoever was up there didn’t care if they got hurt or died, which made them dangerous.

Derek was already in the stairwell when Stiles got inside. 

“You _moron_ ,” he hissed, chasing him. He muttered the light spell and raced after him, leaping over the same broken chair that tripped him up the first time. He was running so fast he crashed right into Derek in the doorway; he held him up and shoved him back when he was steady. 

“They’re gone,” he growled.

Stiles nodded, but didn’t trust himself to speak. The burn across his ribs was throbbing and stinging from running into Derek. It wasn’t as if he’d expected the person to stick around.

“Give me your hand.”

Stiles glared at him. Just because he wasn’t a super self-healing shifter didn’t mean he needed to _hold hands_ to get outside. 

Derek made a frustrated noise and grabbed Stiles’s arm.

There was a jolt, like he’d reached through Stiles’s chest and grasped his spine, and then the pain in both his shoulder and burned skin fell away. “ _Whoa._ How’d you do that?” The burn was still there, so he wasn’t healed, but he wasn’t in pain anymore. 

“We—shifters can alleviate pain,” he mumbled, dropping his hand. He looked over his shoulder. 

“We can discuss it somewhere else,” Stiles said pointedly. 

 

They ended up at Irene’s again. Lisette was delighted to see them, going so far as offering Stiles some burn cream. 

He accepted gratefully and slid into the corner booth across from Derek.

After dropping off the burn cream, Lisette took their orders. 

Stiles checked his phone when she’d left, grimacing when he saw both Allison _and_ Scott had texted him multiple times. He told them he was getting some food, apologized for not answering, and made a joke about them being his parents before he gave Derek his attention. “So, someone obviously didn’t want us poking around,” he began, since he didn’t think Derek would.

“Whoever it was didn’t seem to care until we were looking at the damaged wall.”

Stiles nodded eagerly. “The summoning circle. They didn’t want us looking at it closely enough to identify any wards.” 

“Why would that matter though?”

“You can tell a lot about what someone was doing by the wards on their circle.” Stiles began to carefully daub cream on the burn, hissing through his teeth at the sting. “That’ll be where they summoned the demon.”

“Maybe they summoned it on accident. Pissed it off, it started a fire. Saw us poking around and they panicked.”

Stiles shook his head. “Hard to summon a demon, let alone on accident. And the demon probably wouldn’t— _definitely_ wouldn’t risk backlash by starting the fire on school grounds. Scare the person, sure, they’d definitely do that, but that wasn’t a scare tactic. Added to that is the fact that whoever did it wasn’t in their own room to do it and…” He frowned. “And I don’t know what you have.”

“What exactly _is_ summoning?” Derek asked. He wouldn’t look at Stiles. “I get that you guys can open portals, but is that all it is?”

“Uh… _summoning_ is more like pulling things _through_ open portals. Kind of rude when you don’t have permission, but not a capital offense.” 

Derek nodded.

Lisette brought their food, grinning. 

“Thank you,” Stiles said, heartfelt, as he handed her back the burn cream.

“No problem, sugar. Enjoy your food, now.”

Stiles beamed at her. Then he noticed Derek’s face. “What?”

“Do you still—are you going to keep trying to find out what’s going on?”

“Hell yes. Someone just pushed me out of a _building_. I’m pissed. I’d be trying to find out what was going on just for that alone.” 

Derek nodded. “We shouldn’t investigate on our own. Just in case.” 

“Yeah, that could end badly.” Stiles shot him a lopsided grin. “So—partners?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “We can meet here tomorrow. We’ll figure out our next move then.”

“Fine.” As annoying as he was, Derek _had_ tried to take the brunt of the fall when they’d been pushed. He couldn’t be _all_ bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is going to be on the 21st OR the 14th, if I hit chapter 20 before then. Most likely the 14th. I hope everyone is enjoying, despite the slowness. Sorry!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a teensy bit early because I'm excited and hope you all enjoy! :D
> 
> Also, a warning for Kate Argent being...Kate in this chapter.

Sigils class was held far too early in the morning for Stiles’s tastes. Scott made sympathetic noises the whole walk there, good natured as he listened to Stiles’s complaining.

Stiles hadn’t gotten much sleep. The burn on his ribs wasn’t healed, either. He hadn’t known how to explain it to Scott, so he’d just put more burn cream on it and a non-stick bandage. It wasn’t too bad, just slightly more painful than a mild sunburn, but he didn’t want to risk it getting worse.

“Why is he staring like that?” Scott asked as they entered the Sigils class.

Stiles looked up and rolled his eyes.

Derek was watching them, leaning forward in his seat like he might leap up if they didn’t get in faster. 

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him, then looked back at Scott. “He’s probably just wanting to tell me how terrible my sigils were last week or something.” He shuffled toward his usual seat, dropping his bag next to it. He hadn’t told Scott that he’d met Derek the previous night, either, or even that he’d gone to check the dorm. 

Scott would just worry and tell him to leave the investigation to the police, and Stiles just wasn’t in the mood to listen to a voice of reason.

Plus, he’d completely flip out if he found out they’d been pushed out a window. That sounded like the kind of thing that Scott just didn’t need to know about for a good thirty years or so.

Scott flopped into his chair next to Stiles’s seat, looking relaxed.

“Okay, to your seats please,” Mr. Zino called, clattering into the room. He had an armload of mason jars, all filled with a deep blue potion. “At least for now, anyway. We’re going to be doing partnered sigils today. And,” he said with relish, “partners have to be witch/shifter.” 

Scott whipped around to look at Kira, who smiled at him.

“Yes, it’s very exciting. I’ll draw the sigils you’ll need to do on the board. I want you to practice them on paper first. And people, please—stick to the arms. Anything inappropriate and I’ll bind your hands together.” He cast a hard look over the room, then beamed at them. “Okay, let’s partner up! Shifters and witches! Get used to it!” He spun and drew the sigils on the board. 

Scott shot Stiles a guilty look before rushing over to partner with Kira, but it wasn’t as if the two of them could partner up anyway. 

Stiles sighed and got a piece of paper from his bag. He’d just wait, see who didn’t have a partner after everyone was done, and pair with one of them. He drew the sigils from the board on his paper with quick, practiced flicks of his pen. 

“What are you doing? Get up,” Derek snapped. “Here, I grabbed this.” He slapped a jar and paintbrush on the desk next to Stiles’s paper. 

Stiles stared at him. Then, “Are you serious right now?”

“It’s not like you have anyone _else_ to partner with,” he pointed out. “Now start painting.”

Stiles shoved the paper across the desk. “Practice first.”

“I know how to do them.”

“Practice anyway. It can’t hurt,” he added. He shook the potion jar to make sure the ingredients were well bonded while Derek scrawled the sigils, looking irritated. “There, was that so hard?”

He just scowled at him. 

Stiles rolled his eyes and unscrewed the potion lid. Sigil potions smelled like flowers, mostly gardenia, and they sparkled, which was going to make it extra fun to draw on Derek with. 

The sigils for clear thinking, peacefulness, shields, foresight, water, and light were their assignments. Stiles dipped the paintbrush into the potion, mouth twisting down in displeasure. Sigils should be done barehanded, but he understood, even if he didn’t like it—it was already uncomfortable enough without touching all over each other’s arms. At least the paintbrush put a bit of distance between them. 

“No, higher,” Derek ordered. He shoved his sleeve up, exposing more of his bicep and part of his shoulder. He tapped the side of his shoulder. “Here.”

“You sure are picky for a guy about to let me paint all over him.” Stiles checked his paper, even though he could draw most of them by memory, and began painting. The shield sigil was straightforward, with quick, clean lines, easy to draw. 

Derek studied it. “It’s a little crooked.”

Stiles’s fingers tightened around the paintbrush. “Want me to straighten it for you?” he asked sweetly, meeting Derek’s eyes. The bristles glowed briefly orange over the layer of the paint. 

Derek rolled his eyes and Stiles laughed, dipping the brush in the potion again. 

When they switched, Stiles kept his gaze focused on the clear-thinking sigil swirling over Derek’s forearm. He just didn’t want to stare at Derek’s concentration face. 

“We should meet at Irene’s after our warding class.” 

“I can’t,” Stiles muttered. He felt a muscle in his arm jump when Derek pressed the brush to it. “I have to work at three-thirty until ten.”

Derek grunted. “I thought you didn’t work on Tuesdays.” He completed the foresight sigil with a flourish; the potion tingled as the magic settled. 

“First, it’s a little weird that you know my schedule, and second, I don’t, normally, but Terry called out again, so I’m covering his hours.” He shrugged, then winced when the paintbrush jerked and Derek cursed. “Sorry. Use my shirt to wipe it off.” 

“No shit,” he muttered. He started again, sweeping the brush just a little faster. “So—fine, I’ll just meet you at the library. I wanted to check out the Accords you were telling me about.”

Stiles pursed his lips. “Why do we need to meet tonight? I’ve still got the burn from last night,” he muttered. 

“Because we have to figure out the next step.” Derek’s scowl darkened as he finished off the sigil he was working on. 

“We got thrown-” he stopped himself before his voice could raise. “We got thrown out of the building last time,” he whispered. “I don’t think we should make a next step until we’re sure whoever pushed us didn’t recognize us.” 

“We can’t go back to the dorm anyway,” Derek said impatiently. “They’ve started making the repairs.” He glowered. “We have to do something, if we’re going to find out what’s going on. Right?”

Stiles sighed. “Right. Meet me at the library, then, I guess.”

Scott gave Stiles weird looks all through their hunting class—a class they had to take, like Phys Ed and Strength/control, to help prepare them for sharing shifter abilities—but he never asked what he and Derek had talked about. He wanted to, Stiles could tell, but if he never asked, at least Stiles never had to decide what, exactly, to tell him. 

He wanted Scott’s help, definitely, and Allison’s, but he wasn’t even sure what they could do _to_ help at the moment. Neither of them could see demons on their own, and they didn’t really understand portals or how they worked, like Stiles did. For now, he’d figure out what he and Derek were going to look into, then decide whether to ask his friends for help or not.

After Warding, Derek followed Stiles out of the classroom like he thought he was going to make a run for it. He stuck so close that when Stiles reached into his back pocket, he “accidentally” elbowed him in the ribs. “Back off, dude. You know where I work, it’s not like I’m going anywhere. I’m changing and grabbing some food, I’ll meet you there.”

“I can walk with you.”

Stiles glared at him. “People _know_ we don’t like each other. So whoever’s responsible, if they see us together so much, _after_ pushing us out a window, might get freaked out, don’t you think?”

Derek looked surprised. “Fine,” he bit out, harsher than Stiles was expecting. “I’ll meet you there.” He turned and stalked away.

“Fine.” Stiles shook his head and kept going toward his dorm. He spotted Scott watching him and waved awkwardly. 

“Hey,” he said slowly. “What was that about?”

“I dunno. The guy is _moody._ ” Not really a lie; Stiles had no idea what put Derek in such a foul mood.

“Huh. We could ask Allison to get Cora involved. She’d probably tell Derek to lay off if he’s harassing you.”

“Nah, it’s not like that.” Stiles shrugged, then smirked. “He just needs help with a project and doesn’t like asking.”

“Oh.” Scott seemed to buy it, since he hitched his bag higher on his shoulder and started telling Stiles about his Tracking 2 class.

 

Portia waved at Stiles and left as soon as he was clocked in, so it was about twenty minutes of helping people and organizing before he even realized Derek was there. He was set up at a table, ostensibly working on something. 

“Hey.” Stiles tapped the desk next to the stack of books he’d gathered. 

“Hello. Did you know the Trials Accords were named after the _witch_ trials?”

“Huh. No. But that makes sense.”

Derek nodded. Whatever had caused the sudden hostility earlier clearly wasn’t bothering him any longer. “Young witches were getting caught because they would make deals with demons, become possessed, and ended up using magic in front of people—obviously before people knew about them. Or they would summon a demon without warding correctly, and the demon would possess whoever was nearby to give them a piece of their mind—or kill them as punishment.”

Stiles winced. “Yeah, witch trials era, not really a good time for any of us.”

“No. Older witches would retaliate by killing demons, demons would kill familiars and shifters to get revenge for that—and they weren’t evil?”

“Powerful, arrogant…no more evil than the Greek or Roman gods,” Stiles muttered. 

“Well, anyway, I only found that stuff so far,” Derek said. 

Stiles nodded. “Let me go check our system, see if I can find stuff that actually gives us the details.”

“Do we need to know more?”

“Always.” He shrugged. “We’re in a library. Plus, the more we know, the better prepared we are. No matter who summoned it or why, there _is_ a demon involved.”

“Alright.” Derek looked resigned rather than thrilled, which was a shame, because research was _fun_ —when it wasn’t for school work, anyway.

There were two books that might’ve contained information on the Accords; Stiles wrote them down and gave the notecard to Derek to search for. Ten people had shown up and every one of them needed help with something, so he didn’t have time to look on his own.

“Look, I’m sorry, Mr. Boswell, but a tracking spell for a lost book is going to cost $3.”

“Why? It’s not even a hard spell!”

“That’s just the library policy. You can do it yourself if you’d like,” he added. _But you can’t, which is why you’re here._ He kept that to himself.

“ _Why_? Can’t you just waive the fee? I don’t see why I should have to pay just to do a tracking spell.”

“It was your responsibility to keep track of the book while it was in your possession. You agreed to pay tracking or late fees when you applied for your library card.” He glanced at the monitor. “You still have eight hours before it’s late, so you’re more than welcome to try finding it yourself.”

He scowled. “ _Fine!_ ” He knocked the cup of pens off the counter, scattering them all over Stiles’s side of the desk.

He sighed and addressed the next guy in line. 

By the time he was on the last person, Derek was hovering near the far end of the desk, obviously trying to get Stiles’s attention.

A blonde woman was trying to flirt with him. She was failing, if the increasingly irritated look on Derek’s face was any indication. She touched his arm, smiling seductively, and his shoulders went rigid.

His eyebrows looked murderous, from what Stiles could tell, drawn down flat over his eyes. 

The woman was not getting the hint. She didn’t look like a student, at least not one that Stiles recognized, and she’d masked her aura, so she was old enough to know how to do that. She tipped her head closer to Derek’s and said something about his eyes, if Stiles was reading her lips right. 

Derek rolled his shoulders, moving away from her. 

“You’re all set,” Stiles said to the girl he was helping.

“Thanks. Oh, and could you point me toward the biographies?”

“Sure, they’re-”

“I said _stop_ ,” Derek snapped suddenly.

“—right over there, up the stairs and to your immediate left, excuse me,” he rushed out, darting to the far end of the desk. “Hi there! Is there anything I can help you with?”

The woman ran a fingertip over the inside of Derek’s wrist.

His lip curled. “I need your help finding a reference,” he said through lengthening fangs.

“Sure, no problem.” Stiles looked at the woman. “Can I _help_ you?”

She looked amused at Derek’s reaction.

Derek looked about a second away from snapping at her again, this time for real, but she dropped her hand.

She flashed a fresh, if somewhat more forced, smile at Stiles. “Yeah, I’m looking for my niece, Allison Argent? I forget which building her dorm is in.”

“Oh, you’re her Aunt Kate,” Stiles blurted. 

Her smile widened. “Yes. Are you Stuart, or Scott?”

He flushed, then bit out, “Stiles, actually. We’ve been friends since high school.” He tried to ignore Derek’s amused snort, but it rankled. He didn’t know why he was insulted—it was clear Kate hadn’t been listening to _Allison_ , so she was the one who’d been slighted, really. “Her dorm is in building C. I assume you know the room number?”

“Sure do. Thanks. See you around.” She pinched the edge of Derek’s jaw before she sauntered off.

“Who was that?” he asked through his teeth.

“Kate Argent. She’s my friend’s aunt.” Stiles looked down to text Allison. ‘ ** _Your aunt is looking for you. She called me Stuart and went all creepy bad touch on Derek Hale._** ’

She replied within seconds. ‘ ** _Eek. Sorry about that. Kate is a lot to handle at first I guess._** ’

“Reference books?” Derek prompted.

“Oh, you were serious?” Stiles winced. “I thought you were just trying to get rid of her.”

“No. This book references another and I can’t find it. All it says is that the Trials Accords keep people from infighting.”

Stiles nodded. “Okay. We’ll find it.” 

The referenced book wasn’t on the shelf; it wasn’t checked out either, which meant it’d been mis-shelved or stolen.

“This is ridiculous, it’s supposed to be right here,” Stiles seethed.

“Maybe someone stole it.” Derek looked bored already.

“They’re _protected_ from that,” he snapped. He took a deep, slow breath. “We can find something else. Maybe an online reference or something.”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. We don’t really need it. The Trials Accords were made to keep underage witches from being possessed, and to keep demons off school grounds.”

“That’s why churches are supposedly safe,” Stiles said absently. “They educate people there, no matter what the subject, so…”

Derek shook his head. “I think we need to go to the dorms. The repairs will stop before your shift is done, and they won’t have done the third floor yet.”

Stiles grimaced. “I really don’t want to get pushed again.”

“Just long enough to get pictures of the circle.”

“That won’t tell us who did it or _why_ ,” Stiles pointed out. 

“Yes, but it’s more information than we started with. You’re the one who _just said_ -”

Stiles waved his hands. “I know, I know. What we need to do is find out if any other attacks like this have happened recently or nearby. If so, we can investigate _that_ scene, and compare similarities.”

Derek looked thoughtful. “How could we find out about other attacks?”

“The internet, dumbass, and if that doesn’t work, I still have Officer Hanson’s card. Maybe he’ll tell me something.”

“Why would he tell _you_ anything?”

Stiles tried not to be insulted by the implication that his wiles weren’t enough. “He’s a fan of my father,” he said airily. “I’m sure if I bring him up, he’ll share.”

“Right.”

“And if not, we can just throw your pretty face into the nearest police station and see who gives you what you want first.” 

Derek scowled at him. “That isn’t funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” Stiles grinned. “Okay, I’m gonna check one more place for the book.” 

“Where? I’ll check, you go check the internet,” he said snidely. 

Stiles wanted to point out that he was literally getting paid to be the one to find the book, but if Derek wanted to mess with the dusty books while he played on his phone, that was _fine_.

“Fine. Check the demonology section, near the back. The dustier, the better. Reference books aren’t popular.” 

“Fine.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and returned to the circulation desk. “Hope you like dust bunnies and magic hums,” he muttered, flopping into his chair.

Allison had sent him another apology on behalf of her aunt. She explained that Kate had recognized Stiles, and was making a (bad) joke by calling him Stuart. She did not have an explanation for how she’d been acting with Derek.

Stiles pretended he was fine with that and told her to have fun during her visit. Then he opened his browser. Luckily for his ego, someone had been jumped the previous week only ten miles from campus. They’d been walking home, passing a closed office building, and had been dragged inside. The victim had sustained minor burns—they were white, baffling the paramedics—and some bumps and bruises. 

It was a reach, but the white burns were most likely made by a demi-demon, which meant it could’ve been connected. 

**_BANG!_ **

Stiles leaped up, phone clattering to the desk. “Derek?” 

A strangled sound came from the back wall, near the demonology section.

Stiles left the desk at a quick clip, not quite running. “Did you climb the shelf or something? You’re supposed to ask if you need something up high,” he ranted to cover his pounding heart. 

Derek didn’t reply.

Stiles sped up, fingers twitching against his leg. Spells flew through his mind, but he couldn’t decide what he could possibly be fighting in the library.

Derek was in the demonology section, frozen as ropes of fire twisted around him like live snakes. He turned his head when he heard Stiles approach, then flinched when the fire lashed at his cheek. The skin blistered, then healed. 

“Don’t move again,” Stiles ordered.

“No shit,” Derek snapped, then cringed when the flames curled around his throat.

Stiles looked over the aisle; some books had been knocked to the floor, dust particles still settling. There was a clear circle where Derek stood that was free of debris completely. “Don’t,” he said when it looked like Derek was going to make another comment. “Give me a second.” He thought for a few seconds, then said, “ _Fateor_.”

The book pages ruffled, and then magic markers lit up white, revealed by the spell. There was a circle of them a few feet away from where Derek was stuck. 

“Anyone could have stepped in that,” Stiles hissed. He crept around Derek and crouched near the markers—which were basically just sigils drawn with pure magic rather than a potion—to get a closer look. There was a scrap of black fabric near one of the sigils, partially hidden under a shelf. Stiles used a discarded book to prod it out.

Once it was away from the trap, the sigils faded, going inert as the focus item was taken away. 

The fabric was small, and all black except for a miniscule curve of yellow paint near the edge. Totally nondescript except that Stiles knew it was a piece of his shirt from the other night, when he’d ripped it on the bricks. He clenched his fist around it and turned, gaze sweeping the floor. He had to find whatever was focusing Derek’s trap to free him.

The thing was, the other night, he hadn’t ripped or dropped anything, like Stiles had, so what was focusing the sigils?

There was a sock under the shelf near Derek; Stiles received a minor but painful shock when he reached for it, but he got it.

Derek collapsed to his knees, breathing heavily. The burns on his wrists and throat were healing slowly. 

Stiles was staring at the sock. Horror expanded in his chest, rising like a balloon. 

“Is that mine?” Derek rasped.

“If it is, we’re in deep shit.”

He lifted his head; his face was pasty. “Why?”

Stiles swallowed. “They used it as a focus item, to make sure only you would get caught in the trap.” He waved the scrap of fabric. “This was for me. It came off my shirt last night when we were pushed.” 

“Okay…” Derek moved, leaning most of his weight on his right arm. He brought the other up to curl around his stomach.

“So they knew whoever was looking into the fire would get trapped with this.” He waved the fabric. “But if they got something of _yours_ , they know who you are. They knew your room, well enough to go in and _get_ something of yours.”

“Shit.”

“Yes.” Stiles swallowed again, feeling sick. “I’m guessing most of your stuff is in your dorm?” He looked at Derek in time to see him grimace deeply. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! None of your business.” But he was hunching over his arm protectively, gritting his teeth like he was in pain. 

“Show me,” Stiles snapped. “Show me, show me now, it could be a curse or something from the trap.”

Derek winced and pulled his arm carefully away from his stomach. Blood ran down his wrist and pooled in his palm, dripping onto the carpet. Letters were painstakingly carving their way into the skin of his inner arm, starting at the bend of his elbow. 

**STOP**

Stiles didn’t know what else to do, so he called Scott. He ushered Derek to the employee bathroom in the meantime, muttering cleansing spells over the wound, per Scott’s frantic instructions.

Derek remained silent the entire time, his face utterly blank. 

Stiles thought that probably meant it hurt a lot.

With each cleansing spell, the wound bled more, white globs of either magic or pus spilling out into the sink with it. The bathroom looked like a horror show, since Derek’s arm had been bleeding as they’d walked in, and Stiles had maybe slipped in some of it, too, making the mess even worse. 

“Sorry,” Stiles said, watching the cleansing spell wash over the open wounds. They were really…really gross, deep and still bleeding pretty badly. “I can’t take pain like you guys, but I can…” He did it before he could think about it—he dipped two fingertips into the clean blood pooling on the edge of the sink and swiped them over Derek’s cheek, drawing the sigil for numbing as quickly as he could.

Derek’s face relaxed. He let out a breath and flexed the fingers of his injured arm. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” Stiles’s phone chimed. “That’s Scott. Don’t pass out.” He left reluctantly and found Scott waiting at the circulation desk, his gaze fixed on the trail of blood that they’d left, despite their best efforts to keep the carpet clean. “Hey, thanks for coming.”

“Of course. What happened?” He was staring at Stiles’s hands.

“Come on, he’s still bleeding. Someone set some kind of sigil trap,” he explained on the way to the bathroom. “It was—he was caught in fire, but when I disabled it, it cut into his arm.” 

Scott winced. “Who would do that?”

“An asshole,” Stiles muttered. “Here, I’ll just wait outside.”

“Go get him some water. And if you have any fruit, grab that, too. I know shifters heal fast, but if he’s still bleeding, he’s going to need it.” Scott set his jaw and went in.

Stiles ran and got into his lunch bag. He had a mini bottled water and a banana. Derek could pay him back later.

Scott looked a little sick when Stiles returned, which was worrying. He wasn’t normally squeamish. “What the _hell?_ ”

“What? Did it not heal?”

Derek held up his arm; the wounds were red, mostly closed, which meant Scott _had_ been able to heal them. The word **STOP** was still clearly readable.

“Gods.”

Scott turned back, just as the wounds reopened, and began healing it again. “Why would someone tell you to stop?” he asked harshly. He was turning Derek’s arm gently, though, careful as always with his patient.

Derek met Stiles’s gaze, raising his eyebrows. He sighed through his nose. “I was looking up information on demons. Because of the fire.”

Scott nodded. “Maybe the person who did it didn’t want anyone looking there.”

“Yeah.”

Stiles opened the water bottle and gave it to Derek as a reward. 

The wounds stayed closed after the fourth round of healing. Scott ordered Derek out, so he could sit and relax while they cleaned up the bathroom. 

“Is there a spell?” Stiles asked, averting his eyes. A little blood usually didn’t bother him—some magic required a couple drops or so now and then—but this was a lot. The bottom of the sink had a literal puddle around the drain, spatters and streaks all down the sides.

Scott grimaced. “No. Blood interacts with any magic you use. Cleansing the blood is fine, but cleaning it up with magic just makes a bigger mess.”

“You would know, I guess.” Stiles rubbed his face with his wrist—there was still blood on his hands. He looked at the mess on the floor. “I’ll go get the mop.”

“Great. I’ll just clean up the sink while you do that.” He twisted the hot water tap on.

“Thanks, Scott.”

“Sure.” He looked at Stiles kind of strangely, then shook his head and turned to the sink.

Stiles went to the cleaning supply closet.

Derek was sitting in the big leather chair behind the desk, eating the banana. He was also studying the letters on his arm, either fascinated or furious, Stiles couldn’t tell.

He pushed the bucket into the bathroom. 

“I’ll handle it. Just wash your hands, then go check on Derek. He might still be lightheaded.”

“Thanks.” He stepped carefully over the messy spots and loaded up on soap before he washed his hands. 

He went back to the front while Scott cleaned up the blood. “I’ve got some alcohol wipes if you want to clean off your face.” 

Derek blinked, touching a finger to the sigil still drawn on his face. “Oh, right. Sure.” 

Stiles nodded and got the first aid kit, digging around until he found the packet of wipes. He passed a couple to Derek. 

Scott decided to hang around until Stiles got off, so he didn’t have to walk home alone. That meant they couldn’t really talk about what this meant tonight. That was fine; he could help Stiles scrub the blood out of the carpet.

Derek looked irritated. He sighed noisily after about an hour, when they’d finished cleaning up and were sitting around again. “Give me your number,” he grunted, like it was a terrible inconvenience.

“What?” Stiles looked up from his phone. The library was dead, and he was currently kicking Scott’s butt on Words with Friends. 

“Your phone number. Tell me what it is.”

Scott looked up, too, glancing between the two of them with wide eyes. 

Stiles didn’t know what to say to make it less weird, without involving Scott even more than he already had. “Okay,” he said slowly, and told him.

“I’ll talk to you later.” Derek swept up his bag and an armload of books he’d checked out. He let the door bang shut behind him.

Scott scrambled over to the desk. “ _Dude_ , what the hell?”

Stiles decided to play dumb. “I have no idea. Maybe he wants to play Words with Friends.”

Scott shook his head. “You don’t need a _phone number_ to play that,” he said seriously. 

“Maybe he wants to criticize my projects before class, then, I don’t know.”

Scott rolled his eyes, like he thought Stiles was being slow. “Dude, he partnered with you in Sigils out of the blue, and he was hanging out in here with you— _and_ he wanted your number.” 

Oh, Stiles knew where this was going. “No, no-”

“Derek Hale has a _crush_ on you! I’m telling Allison!”

“He really, really doesn’t. He’s always a dick to me.” 

“Pigtail pulling.” 

Stiles rose up indignantly. “First of all, I have no pigtails, second, being _awful_ to someone because you like them makes you worse than a dick, it does not excuse the awfulness.”

Scott held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, sorry, jeeze. Why do _you_ think he’s hanging around then?”

Stiles bit his lip. “Um—he heard me talking to Efeni. So—he was convinced that I had something to do with the fire. I told him it wasn’t, but maybe he didn’t believe me.” 

Scott’s face twisted in outrage. It was a drastic change from the teasing expression he’d worn a second ago. “So he’s stalking you?” he demanded.

Oh, crap. “No, no, he’s just trying to learn more about demons now, that’s all.” Stiles set his phone down. “It’s your turn. Let’s not talk about Hale anymore.”

Scott nodded, though his face still looked troubled. 

Stiles was sure he’d forget about it—he had plenty to think about, but just in case… “So, how’s it going with Kira? Didn’t you guys have a date planned this afternoon?”

He brightened fractionally and said, “Yeah, we did! It went really well. We went and got milkshakes and…”

Stiles nodded and smiled, encouraging him. That was all he needed to do; sidetrack Scott when he was in love and he forgot the rest of the world like _that_.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also since I'm so far ahead now, I will be posting every Tuesday! Yay!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I have 22 chapters of this so far holy wow. But I'm nearing the end I believe so I should have a final chapter count up soon, and once I'm completely finished I'll be up to posting 2x a week! Let me know how you like it!

Apparently Kira’s awesome everything wasn’t enough to distract Scott indefinitely. 

Derek cornered Stiles Wednesday before lunch. “You told Scott I was _stalking you?_ ” He didn’t shout, but the barely restrained rage in his voice had Stiles taking a hasty step back. 

“What? No.” Except he almost had, hadn’t he? “I told him-”

“That I _accused you_ of being involved with the fire-”

“Well, you _did_ -”

“—and that now I was _stalking you_ because of it-”

“He used that word, not me! _I_ said you were just trying to find out more about demons.” Stiles lifted his brows. “What, are you afraid of Scott?”

Derek flushed. “ _No._ But he told-”

A hand with red-tipped nails clamped down on Derek’s shoulder, yanking him back a full step. “Whatcha talkin’ about?” Laura Hale had a fierce smile, paired with eyes gleaming with either glee or anger, Stiles couldn’t tell. “You wouldn’t be harassing a poor, unsuspecting classmate, would you?”

Derek’s glare could’ve melted steel. “No,” he growled.

“He isn’t,” Stiles said helpfully. “Scott took something I said the wrong way, and he overreacted.” He looked at Derek pointedly. “You being kind of rude and demanding did _not_ help clarify the misunderstanding.”

Laura snorted. “I can imagine.” She looked Stiles over like she was sizing him up. “Well, I didn’t really believe Derek was harassing some kid, but Cora said Scott was really concerned. If he _is_ bothering you, tell him to get lost.” She pinched Derek’s cheek and had to yank her hand back before Derek could bite her. His teeth clacked together loudly. “Or come get me or Cora.” 

“I’m not harassing anyone. And I’m not afraid of you,” Derek added petulantly. 

“Fine. Tell us, then we’ll tell our mother.”

Derek’s face paled.

Laura smiled, satisfied. “Get my number from Ally,” she instructed Stiles before she walked away. 

“Why did you tell him I was stalking you?”

“Why did you demand my number right in front of him?” Stiles shot back. “I had to tell him something, so I told him you overheard me the day of the fire.”

Derek made a face at him. “How else should I have gotten your number?”

“You could have asked before, or written yours down.” Stiles shook his head. “Anyway, before I told him about the demon thing he thought you wanted my number because you _liked_ me. I had to tell him something.”

“So now I’m a stalker.” Derek scoffed and crossed his arms. He was wearing a light sweater, covering the mark from the night before, which reminded Stiles…

“Hey, before you stepped into that trap, I found a possible lead. It’s ten miles from here, and it might be nothing, but it’s all I could find.”

“Fine. We can go after our last class.”

“Fine. I’ll drive.”

Derek snorted inelegantly and walked away. 

Stiles rolled his eyes. 

 

He lingered after his Summoning class; Derek’s Forestry lesson didn’t let out until closer to six, he thought, so he had time.

Professor Eason smiled at him when he approached. “Your aura’s a little brighter today. Get some sleep?”

“Hah, yeah. I have a sort of…weird question.”

Her gaze lit on him. She reminded Stiles a bit of his mother, except she was a redhead, and had a sharp, triangular face. Something in the way they looked at people was similar. “I wondered.”

He drew back. “Wondered what?”

“When you’d have questions about Sunday.” She shrugged. “You’re not the only one with demons on speed dial, so to speak.”

“Right.” He nodded eagerly. “Efeni thinks someone broke the Trials Accords.”

Her face went grim. “Yes, that’s what Hrashta thinks, too.” She frowned. “Efeni, you said?”

Stiles tensed. He was usually more careful when speaking about Efeni, never revealing his name. “Um. Yeah.”

She knew who he was. Her face went too shrewd for someone who _didn’t_ know. “I see.” She didn’t press further. “Well, if they find out who it was, I don’t expect the demon to show up again. The punishment will be too severe.” 

“So, you don’t think it could be anything else, then?” he asked warily.

She studied him. “Hmm. We have some theories.”

Yeah, he bet they did. He bet they had the same theories he had. Or theory, anyway. “Okay,” he said aloud. “Thanks.” He backed up a step.

“Be careful.” She didn’t specify what he should be careful of.

Stiles smiled awkwardly and left the room. He didn’t think she knew what he was doing—maybe just suspected he was getting into trouble. 

He’d just stepped off the curb and into the crosswalk when a black car roared up in front of him, rocking to a stop. The passenger door opened.

“Oh my god, even your car looks like a dick,” Stiles sighed. He looked over the Camaro and shook his head. “No way. I’m getting my jeep. We can meet there if you _have_ to drive.”

“Just get _in_ , Stilinski.”

“Fine, _Hale_ , but if we get pulled over for speeding in your douche-mobile, I will never let you live it down.” He flopped into the low slung seat, grumbling as he tried to fold his legs in to close the door. “You are the same height as me, _why_ do you have such a small car?”

“What’s the address?” Derek asked, ignoring him.

Stiles buckled himself in first, then pulled out his phone. “123 You’re an Asshole Drive,” he said somberly. “Is that your house, or just a rental?”

The steering wheel creaked as Derek’s hands flexed. “Tell me the address or get out.”

Stiles sighed noisily and told him the real address. “It’s ten miles away. Try not to kill us.”

“You can ride in the backseat if you’re so worried. I think I still have a booster in the trunk from my cousin.” It looked like he was smirking.

Stiles snorted and stretched his legs under the dash, balancing his bag between his knees. “You aren’t as annoying as you were last year.”

“Damn. I’ll have to try harder.”

Stiles laughed. “Last year, I was convinced you were trying to get me to at least change my schedule so we didn’t have classes together.”

Derek huffed as they pulled out of the school parking lot. “Why would I care what classes you were taking?”

“You argued with everything I said!”

“You argued with me first! And I argue with plenty of people who are wrong.” 

Stiles found himself laughing again, and several more times the whole ride. It was surreal to be laughing with Derek Hale, in Derek Hale’s car. What the hell was going on with this year?

The office building was boarded up; there were _Space For Rent_ signs on some of the windows, but they looked shabby, like they’d been there for a while. Stiles snorted at the sight of it all. “Okay, walking home by myself, not gonna lie, I’d have crossed the street to avoid this.” He gestured at building.

“Not everyone is paranoid,” Derek muttered. 

“So you’re telling me that you feel _no_ reason to give this place a wide berth, no reason to be on your guard?”

Derek eyed one of the boarded up windows warily. “Well, not everyone is observant. It’s not a capital crime.” 

“Yeah, okay.” Stiles traced a protective sigil on his thigh. He blew out a quick breath. “Let’s go. There might be another summoning circle we can get pictures of.”

“Do you want me to go first?” Derek asked dryly.

“No,” Stiles snapped on principle, and now he had to go first. The doors were chained shut, but Stiles was prepared this time, and muttered the (somewhat complicated) unlocking spell.

The chain rattled to the ground.

“What language was that?”

“A mix. Magically picking locks is hard.” He pushed the door open, but hesitated at the threshold. He remembered Derek caught in that trap, wrapped in fire. “ _Fateor,_ ” he muttered. 

Nothing lit up, which meant either there were no traps, or the spells were concealed with magic stronger than Stiles’s own. 

Derek sneezed, making him jump. “Dusty,” he mumbled.

“Sure.” Stiles flicked his fingers and mouthed the light spell he’d used before. He huffed and whispered it. Orange light pooled in his palm.

“Can’t use the spell without the words yet, huh?”

“You can’t use magic at _all_ yet, so who are you to judge?” Stiles stepped further in, letting the light guide him. The floor was partially tiled and littered with broken plaster—probably from the incident.

“Smells like magic.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “How _much_ magic? Like, the previous tenants used magic to keep their coffee warm and lunches protected in the break room, or like someone unleashed a demi-demon here?”

“Like _magic_ , I don’t know. It’s faded, and there are birds living somewhere in the building. And rats.” 

Stiles kept moving. 

The attack happened somewhere deep enough in the building that passersby couldn’t glance in and spot them, but close enough to the entrance that the victim didn’t have to be dragged very far. 

They walked shoulder to shoulder down a wide hallway that opened up into what was probably the main room of the first floor. Most of the debris was cleared away from the dead center of the room, leaving an almost perfect circle.

“Look.” Derek nudged him, as if he couldn’t see it himself. “That’s where the magic scent is coming from.”

A circle of wards was burned onto the tiles; most of them had been clumsily obliterated, but it was still clear what had been there. 

Stiles stepped forward and took his phone out, taking pictures of the smeared wards individually. He couldn’t get a clear overhead shot of the whole thing, so he got it in parts, circling it sideways. “These are contract wards—just means that whatever came through couldn’t leave the circle until it agreed to the terms laid out by whoever summoned it.”

“So it’s definitely a summoning circle.”

“Yes.”

“There’s wormwood and pipsissewa in the circle,” Derek muttered. He crouched near the outer edge of the circle, either unwilling or unable to step into it. He touched the ashes along the edge and lifted his hand. He sniffed. “Rose and violets.” He frowned.

“That’s…to call spirits. What the fuck.” He squinted at one of the wards. It was smeared and scuffed, partially gouged out, which was too bad, because he was pretty sure it would have told him the demi-demon’s name. “Whoever did it didn’t bother coming back to clean up properly.” He rubbed his face and put his phone away. “I’m guessing all you can smell is magic?”

“Yes.” Derek straightened. “I’m going to see if there’s a scent by the back entrance.”

Stiles let him go. No use arguing, though he was sure there wouldn’t be any scent. Masking scents was difficult but achievable, especially to someone capable of summoning demons of any kind. He moved away from the circle. He would’ve liked to find a hint about why a demi-demon was summoned, what _happened._

There was more trash, mostly busted pieces of tile and drywall. Scuff tracks led from the door down the hall, to the main room, probably where the victim was dragged.

“Was the victim a witch?” Derek’s voice was muffled, far away.

“I’m not sure, the article didn’t say.” He bent to look at something dark on the floor, but it turned out to be a dried up leaf.

“I think it was a—” whatever else he said was drowned by Stiles’s strangled shout.

“Don’t _do_ that!” He pushed to his feet, brushing dirt off his pants. “Don’t just sneak _up_ on me!”

“I made noise. I think the victim was a shifter.”

“Why?”

“Come look.” He walked away.

Stiles grumbled and followed him back to the main room. “Okay? What am I supposed to-”

“Look at the center of the circle.”

Stiles looked.

The floor in the center of the circle was scratched up, as if whatever was there had been clawing to get away.

Stiles shook his head. “The victim shouldn’t have been in the circle.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth, fighting the urge to be sick. “Um, unless whoever did it was trying to give the demi-demon a vessel.” 

“A vessel?” Derek asked like he knew what it was, but he didn’t want to believe it.

“A body to possess. It’s hard but not impossible for things to possess people who aren’t Summoners. They have to be near the portal and—it’s not something I’ve ever looked into.” It was something he’d consciously avoided looking into. “It would hurt. Leave…burns.” He looked down at the circle. “I don’t know why anyone would want to summon a demi-demon _and_ give it a vessel. They slither out of binding contracts a lot easier by riding a body.”

Derek huffed. “Is it possible the demi-demon dragged them in here itself?”

Stiles looked at the circle. “No. It’d need someone to let it through.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. His leg burned and he hissed, jerking his hand away. A glance down confirmed that he’d burned a hole in his jeans. Again. “But I’ve run into two ghosts so far who had no idea how they got here. It’s possible the demi-demon slipped through while they were doing something else.”

“What else?” Derek demanded, looking frustrated and foreboding.

There was one possibility that was too horrible to even think, let alone share. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “Something bad.” He scuffed his foot through the debris and stepped back. “This is useless. We should just go back.”

Derek snorted angrily and stepped forward; there was a crack like a gunshot and he flew across the room.

“ _Cirueo!_ ” 

He slowed before he slammed into the wall, then slumped harmlessly to the floor. “What the _hell_ was that?”

Stiles looked down at the circle. “Stay over there.” He usually at least needed a reflective surface to open a portal, but if the circle was still active enough to expel Derek, maybe he had a chance. He held his hand out, not actually breaching the circle, but close enough for his fingertips to jump back.

The air in the circle shimmered as he tugged on it, trying to rip a portal open—the _last_ portal, actually. He could feel it there, like a recently repaired stitch in the fabric of reality. A tiny piece of a portal appeared, swirling and utterly useless, before it collapsed.

Stiles swore and stepped back. “I’m not strong enough to open it back up. Don’t walk through it, there’s devil’s bit and mountain ash in the circle.”

“I thought devil’s bit was meant to expel _evil_.” Derek picked himself up, brushing broken bits of tile off his pants and looking disgruntled. 

“It’s actually just meant to keep out or expel things within its bounds.” Stiles swore again. “If I could just…” He swiped his hand over the air again; devil’s bit burned his palm. He curled his fingers, trying to rip open the portal. His head throbbed. He could see it trying to open again, a pinprick of a portal.

“Stiles.”

“I’ve almost got it.” He clenched his hand, imagining that he was physically tugging on the edges. The pinprick widened, big enough to see into. Red swirled against shades of yellow and green, a part of the demonic realm Stiles wasn’t familiar with. His head gave a sharp, painful throb; he made a muffled sound of pain and kept pulling.

“Stiles, _stop_!” 

“It’s opening-” He swayed forward, the barrier burning his chin for a split second before Derek yanked him back and shook him. “Ow, stop that!” His head pounded, eyes fluttering with pain. 

“ _You_ stop that, you idiot.” Derek let go of him, disgusted. “You’re bleeding,” he grunted.

Stiles lifted a hand to his face and found his nose dripping blood. He sighed. That’d be magical blowback, trying to use a protected circle. He wiped it with his shirt. “You okay? It hit you pretty hard.”

“I’m fine—I didn’t even hit the ground.” He shook his head. “Come on, this is useless.”

“If I could reopen their portal-”

“But you can’t,” Derek said harshly. “You aren’t strong enough, you’ve already exhausted yourself.”

Stiles clenched his jaw. “I almost had it.” His nose was still bleeding kind of heavily, so he had to bunch the collar of his shirt up to hold to his face. 

Out at the car, Derek grabbed a blue shirt from the trunk and threw it at Stiles. “Use it to stop the blood. Pinch the bridge.”

“I know.” He got in the car carefully, trying not to get blood anywhere on the interior. Derek would probably kill him if he did. Or maybe just literally kick him out of the still moving car. “Waste of time. I’m sorry. I thought that might give us something to work with.”

“Did the magic feel familiar there?”

Stiles shook his head, probably smearing blood all over his cheeks. “Not really.” His voice sounded congested and thick. When he checked, there was still blood running from his nostrils. He sighed and brought the shirt back up. “The portal almost opened. I could have gotten it open if I had a little boost.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stymie the blood flow.

“What kind of boost.” Derek’s voice was stiff and almost angry. 

“There are some herbs I can use, I think. Probably something I can drink,” he said thoughtfully.

Derek stayed quiet for the rest of the drive.

 

When they pulled into the parking lot, two ambulances were peeling off, lights flashing. Stiles’s nose had finally stopped bleeding; Derek’s shirt was completely ruined.

“I hope everyone’s okay,” Stiles murmured, watching them whip out of sight. 

“Obviously, they aren’t.”

“ _Obviously_ I meant I hope everyone’s _alive_ ,” he replied.

Scott was outside with Isaac and Cora when they pulled up to the dorm. Scott looked equal parts horrified and furious when Stiles got out of the car.

He didn’t understand why until he caught sight of his reflection. There was dried blood all over his mouth and chin, under his nose and smeared a little on his cheeks, too, not to mention the front of his shirt. “So this is blowback,” he explained.

Cora was already ripping open the driver’s door. “ _What_ did you do? Mom’s going to _kill_ you!”

Isaac stayed back, his face a little green. His eyes kept skipping from Stiles to Derek and back again.

“Hey!” Stiles waved his hands. “It was blowback from a spell. I accidentally stepped into a protected circle someone forgot to disable.” 

Cora shot him a disbelieving look, eyes narrowed. 

“Yeah,” Derek snapped, getting out of the car to glare at Cora. “Why do you keep acting like I’m some kind of bully?”

“Um, because you’re _suddenly_ always hanging around some kid you used to call annoying-”

“Hey!”

“Sorry. And now he’s covered in blood. In _your_ car.” 

“Derek didn’t do this,” Stiles said, appalled. Not at the idea that Derek would punch him—he probably would, given enough provocation—but at the idea that Stiles couldn’t stop him from hitting his face. “He just gave me a ride home. Because my nose was bleeding.” Eager to change the subject, Stiles asked, “What was with the ambulances? Why are you guys outside?”

Cora grimaced.

Scott rubbed his face. “A witch and his familiar were attacked a little while ago. They had some…pretty bad burns.”

“Oh my god. Does anyone know what happened?”

Cora shook her head. “No. They were alone, practicing their powers, I think. They were,” she took a deep breath, let it out, “in our year, so they still needed some practice. We assume it was the same thing that caused the dorm fire, due to the burns.”

Stiles rubbed his mouth; dried blood flaked off on his hand. “But they were alive?”

“Yeah. Hurt, but the medics thought they’d be fine once they were treated by some Healers.”

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t get it. I—what’s the motive?”

Scott’s eyes narrowed, then widened. “You-”

“I’m just worried,” Stiles said quickly. He might be able to derail Scott if he acted fast. “If there isn’t a clear motive, how can you figure out who’ll get attacked next? Basics, Scotty, Dad would be disappointed.”

“Dad?” Isaac asked. He’d stopped looking quite so horrified, had moved closer to Scott and Cora. Maybe blood made him squeamish.

“My father’s a county sheriff.” Stiles rubbed his face. “I’m going to get cleaned up.”

“Yeah,” Scott said slowly, “good idea. Let’s go. I’ll see you guys later.” So he wasn’t forgetting whatever had put that look on his face any time soon then.

Stiles swallowed. “Bye,” he muttered. He had to figure out a way to get Scott off the trail before he followed it far enough to try getting involved. 

Cora shook her head. “You’re driving us to our dorms, Derek. C’mon, Isaac, you know he doesn’t bite. I’ll take the front.” 

Stiles sighed and, with no other choice, let Scott follow him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY THIS IS LATE. I had real life stuff happen and you know what? Real life can go screw itself. Anyway, enjoy chapter 9, hope you enjoy! :D

Scott was waiting for Stiles when he got out of the shower. He was sitting on Stiles’s bed, cross legged and disapproving.

Lemmy, sensing tension, went to curl up in the sink and out of the way.

“Are you trying to catch whoever’s doing this?” Scott asked bluntly. 

Stiles hated that he knew him so well sometimes. “No, I’m…not.”

“You aren’t.” Scott snorted and turned away for a second. “Okay. So why were you with Derek Hale? And covered in blood?”

“I wasn’t _covered_ in blood. It was just a nose bleed.” 

Scott straightened indignantly. “It was blowback from trying to use someone else’s protected circle. That wasn’t from just _stepping_ into it. Don’t treat me like an idiot.”

Stiles dropped into his desk chair. There just wasn’t much to say to that. “Alright,” he said slowly, to give himself time to think. “Okay. You caught me.”

“Oh my god, Stiles, are you _insane?_ You could get hurt or killed!”

“Or worse, _expelled!_ ” He laughed at the venomous look Scott shot him. “Sorry. But I’m not in any danger really.” Lie. “I’m just poking around the old scenes—after the police are done and everything.”

“Really.”

“Yes.”

“ _Really_.”

“Yes!” Stiles was starting to get annoyed with getting called a liar—he was, of course, lying, but that wasn’t the point. 

“Then why are you wearing a bandage on your chest?” Scott sounded smug.

“Wha—I am not—” Stiles sputtered. Then, “How’d you see it?”

“You left the first aid kit on the counter last night, you slob, I saw the edge of the bandage while you were sleeping, and you’ve been careful not to cross your arms,” Scott recited.

“What’re you, a detective?”

“No, and neither are you!”

Okay, Stiles walked into that one. “I’m not trying to find the person who did it!” Stiles lied. “I’m just poking around—to find stuff to tell Efeni.” 

Scott relaxed slightly. “Efeni knows where you’ve been going?”

“Yes.” What was one more lie? Though technically, one could say that by knowing Stiles his whole life, Efeni was already well aware. 

“Okay. How’d you hurt yourself? Let me see it.”

Stiles took his shirt off and peeled the bandage away. “I leaned up against some hot bricks.” The burn still looked as fresh as it had when he’d gotten it. “The ones burned by demon fire.”

“Ah.” Scott held a hand over the burn. “So how does Derek fit into this?”

“He’s been looking around with me, that’s all.”

Scott looked up, then away. “So why didn’t you invite me?”

“I-” but he couldn’t say to keep him safe, since he’d just said it wasn’t dangerous. “-didn’t invite him,” he finished lamely. “He’s just ending up in the same places I’ve been.” 

The burn grew hot for a moment, then faded altogether.

Scott sat back. “Well, that’s weird. It’s like he’s following you.”

“Sometimes he’s there first. Plus, we’re looking into the same crimes, so we’re bound to run into each other.” Stiles twisted his fingers together.

“What did you do to cause the blowback?”

He sighed. “I tried opening a portal where someone else had opened one. In a protected circle. With no mirror.”

Scott hissed through his teeth. “I don’t even know which part to call you stupid for.” 

“All of it works.” Stiles rubbed his face. “So now I kind of want to…” He looked down at his hands. “I kind of want to find a way to boost my powers.”

“ _What?_ ” 

“Just my affinity! There’s ways to do that!”

“Yeah, like bonding with a shifter!”

Stiles shook his head. “I was really close this afternoon, so I only need a little boost. I was thinking maybe clover or mint?”

“You’ll probably need a combination,” Scott said, sighing. “Stewed in a potion, and you’ll have to drink it to keep from having another nosebleed.” He stood up, frowning. “And some lily-of-the-valley incense wouldn’t hurt, either.” He went to his desk and started digging through the drawers. “Clover, mint, lemon verbena…” He looked over his shoulder. “We could stew it in water, strain it, and mix it with some pomegranate juice—it’s good for divination, but it’s also good for luck and stuff. Plus, it’ll make the potion taste better.” 

Stiles pulled his shirt back on and rolled over his bed. Their bedroom potion pot was small, just big enough for practicing potions and mixing stuff for headaches and colds when they couldn’t make it to the store. 

“I’ll get everything together.” Scott put little baggies and jars of the plants into a reusable grocery bag he kept on the back of his desk chair. 

They had to use the shared dorm kitchen to stew it—things that could create a lot of heat on their own weren’t allowed in dorm rooms. No one else was there when they went down; Lemmy trailed after them, brushing against their ankles as they walked. Someone had left a bag of popcorn in the microwave. 

“So I’m thinking we just let this stew until the ingredients bond,” Scott said, twisting the stove dial. He set their pot on the stove eye. “Can you get some tepid water for me?”

Stiles filled a cup at the sink and passed it over. 

“Thanks.” Scott tipped the cup gingerly into the pot, filling it about halfway and setting the cup aside. He started adding crushed mint leaves and chopped clover into it. Healers had a gift for potions; they almost always measured correctly by eyeballing the herbs. They could even create their own potions successfully on the first try, if they wanted. It was only a little annoying to watch Scott do it.

“Thank you,” Stiles said. He sat at one of the tiny tables scattered throughout the kitchen, near the window, and trailed his foot across the floor for Lemmy to chase. 

“As long as you don’t do anything stupid, I don’t mind helping you.” He stirred the pot and eyed the contents, pursing his lips. He dropped a lemon verbena leaf in. A plume of orange smoke puffed up from it. Scott smiled.

“I _am_ being careful.” He bent to scoop Lemmy up, letting him curl up in his lap. “Hey, if this works, maybe I’ll be able to create portals without mirrors.”

“It won’t be permanent, you know. The boost will probably only last as long as the potion in your system.”

“That’s fine. I can take it right before I need it, that way it still works.” He stroked Lemmy’s back, smiling when he flexed his claws and purred. 

Scott rummaged in the bag he’d brought until he found the half-bottle of pomegranate juice. “I’m going to put it in here. It probably won’t completely disguise the taste,” he warned. 

“That’s fine.”

“Good. We can try it up in our room after it cools.” He switched the stove off and stirred the potion. “Can you get me a potion funnel?”

“Sure.” Stiles set Lemmy on the table and went for the cabinets. There were about four different funnels in the cabinet, always carefully labeled. Dry and wet food stuff, and dry and wet potion stuff. Stiles grabbed the wet one and stood back to watch Scott prepare the potion. He was sure he never looked that confident when pouring magical liquids, especially not ones he’d created on the fly. Healers got all the luck. 

Scott made sure none of the big pieces wound up in the bottle, taking care not to spill. Once it was all in, he capped it and shook the bottle. “C’mon.”

They trooped back upstairs. Stiles carried Lemmy, since he refused to move and he wasn’t allowed to roam the building at night.

“I’m going to try it,” Stiles said as Scott opened the door. “If it works, this’ll be _awesome_.” He let Lemmy flow out of his arms, rolling his eyes when he trotted right to the middle of the floor and plopped down. 

“What’re you going to do?” Scott asked. He was clutching the pomegranate juice bottle to his chest, eyes all squinted up.

“I’m going to open a partial portal and try to contact Efeni without using a mirror. Low risk.” 

“I think you should wait until tomorrow. You just got over the blowback from-”

“I’m _fine_. It’s just our room and my own portal. If anything, it just won’t open. And if it feels like too much, I’ll stop,” he promised.

Scott pursed his lips and handed over the bottle. “If you pass out, I’m going to be mad at you.”

“I’m not going to _pass out_ , jeeze, Scott.” 

He still looked skeptical. 

Stiles decided to prevent anymore stalling and took a long drink from the bottle. Mostly, he could taste pomegranate and mint, but the clover left an aftertaste he wasn’t thrilled with. He felt magic tingle under his skin, along his palms and fingers. It didn’t feel all that different from the sensation of doing magic; a little stronger, maybe.

He took another deep pull, then capped the bottle. “Okay, I’m going to try.” He shook his shoulders. 

“Right there? Not even in a doorway?”

“Nope. I don’t want any crutches. The doorway is a medium.”

“Not yours, though. This is supposed to be practice anyway.”

“Yeah, but how will I know if it works or if it was just the doorway?”

Scott sighed. “Alright. Just—don’t push. If it feels like you can’t do it, don’t.”

“Right. I won’t.” He used his foot to encourage Lemmy toward his bed and out of the way, a gentle nudge that nonetheless earned him a baleful glare. “Oh, calm down. You’ll be much happier without something swiping at you from a demonic realm.” He frowned when he felt Scott staring at him. “Don’t watch me, you’re making me nervous.” He blew out a breath and shook his hands.

Scott rolled his eyes and flopped sideways onto Stiles’s bed, taking his phone out. 

Stiles took a slow breath. He recalled the red and yellows of the portal he’d tried to open that afternoon. _Take me there,_ he thought. He swiped a hand through the air, because it was easier to focus his powers through his hands. Nothing happened at first, except the slightest sensation of something giving under the pressure of his magic. He pushed harder, twitching his fingers. His dad always said that using his hands so much for magic was like having an obvious tell in poker. Stiles scowled and curled his fingers into his palm.

The portal tore open, starting the size of a quarter and widening to football sized, before it stopped. 

He sighed. 

Something clutched at the edge of the portal. “ _Pretty Summoner aura. Let me out. I make magic easy for Summoners. Make magic easy for you. Out. Out._ ” The wards glowed and the demi-demon hissed in pain.

Stiles recoiled in disgust and shut the portal. “Damn it.”

Scott rolled onto his back. “What was that noise?”

“Demi-demon.” Stiles rubbed his face. His hands were only a little clammy. He guessed having something else to focus on helped the anxiety. 

“Are you okay?” Scott sat up quickly, dropping his phone. “Did it try-”

“The portal wasn’t wide enough for it to try anything.” He sagged onto the edge of his bed. “This sucks.” He bent and grabbed Scott’s phone for him. 

“You don’t _have_ to open a portal though, right? Just to investigate old crime scenes?”

“No, but it would’ve been nice to know I could if I had to. That way I could have updated Efeni at the scene,” he fabricated. It was really lucky Scott couldn’t spot a lie to save his life. 

“Oh. I guess you’ll just have to settle, then.” He looked proud of himself. “Come on, let’s go get some food, I’m _starving_.” He rolled to his feet. 

 

Thursday was still a good day, even if Stiles didn’t _really_ hate Derek quite as much as he used to. Elemental Works was a fun, active class, his second of the day. They were on water, so nature sensitives with an affinity for water got to sit out the lesson. Some of them were playing with balls of water instead of writing notes, which was just rude, honestly.

“Concentrate, Stilinski,” Lydia ordered. “I didn’t pair with you just to be made to look like an idiot.” 

Stiles glared at her. “Why _did_ you pair with me?” He twisted his wrist, then grinned, surprised and delighted when water pooled in his palm. 

“Because my roommate is a Seer and she had a message for you.” She looked disgruntled. “Apparently it was so urgent that she insisted that I deliver it today.” 

“Oh, a message.” Stiles sighed. He let the water seep through his fingers, not quite dripping off, then form into a ball again. “This should be good.”

Lydia shot him an impatient look. “She said to stop.”

“Stop what?” he asked distractedly. 

Lydia scooped the water out of his hand and dissipated it with a clench of her fist. “She just said, “Tell Stilinski, ‘stop’.” It was strange, since she was looking for a…”

Whatever she said, Stiles couldn’t decipher it; he dropped his arms, mouth falling open, as a _force_ swept over him, something heady and hypnotizing. His eyelids lowered; across the room, Marlena let out a shuddering sigh. She felt it, too.

A wave of heat rolled over him, followed by a sweet scent and a sense of release. 

Stiles jerked hard. “Oh my god.”

The class was staring between him and Marlena, looking transfixed and disturbed. 

“ _What_ are you doing, Stilinski?” Mr. Harris barked. 

Stiles shook his head. He turned on his heel and ran out of the room. Behind him, Marlena and Lydia both shouted at him to stop, but he couldn’t. 

He didn’t know where he was going—he just let instinct lead him. He bolted outside and around the corner of the building, toward a path he’d never noticed before. 

“Hey!”

Stiles spared Derek a glance. “I’m busy,” he snapped. 

“I can feel it, too!”

He slowed, but kept moving. “Really?”

Derek nodded. He was wearing his gym clothes, a tank top and shorts. _**STOP**_ was still clearly visible on his inner arm. 

“Come with me, then,” Stiles ordered. He began to run again.

Derek kept pace with him. 

The instinct led them to a locked building Stiles had never been inside before.

“It’s for Summoning class,” Derek said. “Laura says they use it in the winter if it’s too cold to be outside. Third year and up.” He reached around Stiles and pulled on the door—it flew open without resistance. He glanced at Stiles, then stepped inside. 

The smell of chlorine was so strong that it distracted Stiles momentarily. He shook his head. “Someone opened a portal to a demon realm,” he murmured. “They opened it _wide_. That’s why I felt it.”

“And me?” Derek barely turned toward him, his muscles all bunched up to leap.

Stiles hesitated. “I’m not sure.” They moved further inside, out of the entryway and into the main room. 

There were mirrors on almost every wall, empty doorways in the middle of the floor, and one large, covered pool in the center.

At the far end of the pool, someone in pale robes was kneeling at the edge of a Summoning circle and an open portal.

A deep voice chanted in a language that Stiles couldn’t identify. He thought he heard Greek, Hebrew—Latin. His heart lurched.

“He’s—we—stop!” Stiles shouted, even as Derek swore at him. “He’s trying to bind a-”

The witch took off running. 

Stiles ran after him, hurling himself around the side of the pool.

The witch was nearly at the door-

“ _Concesso!_ ” Stiles cried out. 

The witch bounced off the now-frozen door. Without turning away from it, the witch lifted a hand. 

Derek was nearly to him.

The hand flexed; the witch muttered something.

A spell slammed into Stiles’s chest, knocking him off his feet. He hoped Derek caught the guy, but consciousness was fading so fast he couldn’t tell. He hit the covered pool with a muted splash. 

 

“Are you ever going to wake up?”

Stiles groaned. It wasn’t fair to feel so sore _and_ wake up to such a grumpy voice.

“Get up. I know you’re awake.” Something prodded his arm.

He batted at it. “Stop,” he said. The sound of his own voice, rough and unfamiliar, had his eyes opening.

Derek frowned down at him. “This isn’t working.”

Stiles was too disoriented to figure out what he was talking about. Green wallpaper caught his attention. “Infirmary?” he rasped.

“You were hit with a spell.”

His hands jerked up to his chest. “Ohhh. That bastard. Did you catch him?”

“No,” Derek muttered, glowering. “The spell knocked you out _and_ knocked you into the pool. You’d have drowned.” He shook his head. He looked angry, but his eyes were scared. “We can’t help anyone or each other like this.” He rubbed his face. 

Stiles stared at the door. “There isn’t much we can do to be stronger,” he said dully.

Derek nodded. “I told them that we were meeting there to practice your summoning, and that someone attacked you and pushed you in.” 

Stiles nodded. Then he winced. “Today’s Thursday, isn’t it? Ah, crap.”

The door flew open. Scott looked flustered, his purple scrubs all disheveled and lopsided. “Dr. Medina said you almost drowned! What were you _thinking_?” He caught sight of Derek and froze.

“He pulled me out. It’s lucky he was there, or I probably _would_ have drowned.”

Scott nodded. He seemed frantic, and his eyes were a little bloodshot and shiny. That seemed like an overreaction to Stiles.

“I’m fine,” Stiles assured him. 

“You could have _died_. Whoever attacked you could have killed you.” His voice shook.

Stiles lifted his brows. “He didn’t try very hard, then. He was running away from us. Scott, what-”

“Someone killed-” Scott clenched his jaw and swallowed. “Someone killed a witch and his familiar today. Right around the time you and Derek bolted out of class. It could’ve been you guys. I think you interrupted the killer.” He looked seriously shaken.

Stiles felt the same. If they’d gotten there sooner, would they have been able to save them? “Who, um…”

“Some fourth years.” Scott rubbed his face. “Classes are cancelled until after the funerals. Maybe indefinitely. They’re having detectives come in. They’ll be around.”

Stiles nodded. He and Derek would have to answer questions. He wasn’t sure how it would help, but he’d tell them whatever they wanted to know. 

“McCall!”

Scott winced. “Sorry, I have to go. See you later.”

Stiles nodded absently. He felt Derek watching him. “What?”

“The detectives won’t find anything.”

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut. “Why do you say that?”

“When I pulled you out of the water, the circle had been destroyed. They’re covering their tracks now.” 

Stiles sighed. “Right. Because we let them know we were onto them and probably screwed up the entire investigation.”

“If we did, it’s our responsibility to help.” 

“How? We aren’t strong enough,” Stiles snapped. “You have no magic yourself.”

“I would,” he said slowly, reluctantly, “if we bonded.”

Stiles let out a sharp laugh. “Are you insane? What—how would we even do that? And—do you know how bonding works? Do you _know_ how close it’d feel?” He shifted in place, uncomfortable at the very thought.

“Two people are dead. Five are in the hospital.” Derek thrust his arm out. _**STOP**_. “I don’t take well to threats. If you’re done, fine. I’ll find someone else to help me.”

“That’s not fair!” Stiles snapped. “Threatening to drag someone else into it. You’re blackmailing me.”

“Is it working?”

Stiles worked his jaw. “No.” He thought of the two dead students. “Fine. How’re we even going to do this?”

Derek smiled grimly. “I know a couple of fifth years strong enough to do it.”

Stiles sighed. “Alright. When?”

“Before the funeral. Monday?”

Stiles nodded. He wasn’t going to have to worry about finding a familiar after all. Now he’d just have to worry about Derek cutting him off from his magic just because he felt like it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I hope you enjoy this chapter! LMK what you think! :D I'm excited about this chapter. Also this fic seems like it's going to be longer than any of my others because OF COURSE the one I think is going to be short ends up like this. :D

**Monday**

There were way, way too many flaws in the plan. Stiles had to pick at his food and pretend to eat so Scott wouldn’t ask any questions. At least he wasn’t the only one who seemed listless and without an appetite. 

Everyone was still reeling from the murders. The funerals were set for Wednesday. No word had come about when classes would pick back up. Probably the Monday after the funerals.

Stiles nodded when Scott asked if he was finished. There were so many things running through his head he almost didn’t hear him. He muttered his thanks when Scott picked up his tray for him.

They were rushing this plan. But what choice did they have? Wait until more people died? If Derek had felt the portal open when only Summoners should have felt it, he was close enough to the events to be linked, somehow. Stiles wouldn’t call it destiny, but maybe fate. Was there a difference?

“Stiles?”

He looked up. 

Scott was standing beside the table, brows creased.

“Oh, sorry.” He stood.

Scott frowned worriedly at him. “I don’t think you should go. You almost died last time.” 

“Derek will be there. We’ll stick together this time.” He managed a smile. He’d told Scott that he and Derek were going to look around the Summoning building again. All he’d had to do was say he needed to go back to make sure he wasn’t holding onto any latent fear _of pools._ He didn’t actually remember hitting the water, but Scott ate it up. Or, well, he’d seemed to.

“Well, maybe I should come with.” 

Stiles shook his head. “You have a crap load of homework that you procrastinated all weekend, and you’re working at the clinic tonight.” He sighed and rubbed his hands on his jeans. He felt awful for all the lies, but if they got caught, Scott couldn’t get accused of helping them. “I’ll be fine, and if I freak out, it’s not like Derek will let me drown. He already proved that.”

Scott’s face was still troubled. “Still, I’d feel better if one more person went with you. Maybe Allison-”

“Derek’s friend is going to meet us there.”

“Who?”

Stiles really didn’t want to link them together, but… “His name is Boyd. He’s a fifth year Seer.”

Scott frowned thoughtfully. “So now you’ll be alone, where you almost drowned, with Derek Hale _and_ one of his friends?”

“Boyd is Laura’s friend, too.”

His face cleared. “Oh.” He sighed. “Sorry if I’m overreacting. But two…they _died._ And you almost died. It could’ve been you.”

Stiles grimaced and bumped their shoulders together. “I know. I get it. Sorry I’m being difficult. I just have to do this.” More than he knew. 

Scott clapped his shoulder. “That’s okay. Just, you know, be careful.” 

“I will.”

 

Boyd and his familiar, whose name Stiles didn’t know, shared a dorm in a building with other bonded pairs. Stiles stood outside, staring up at the building. It was now or never, he guessed. He took a step forward, then shuffled back again. Indecision seized him. There were so many reasons _not_ to do this.

They’d be forced to share powers. Not just Stiles sharing the ability to see spirits, but _all_ powers: portals, Derek’s advanced senses, magic, everything. 

They would be mentally linked as well. They’d be able to communicate (somewhat) over distances, sense each other’s emotions and pain...It wouldn’t be telepathy or full mind reading, but it would still be invasive, uncomfortably close; they barely knew each other as it was, let alone trusted each other.

Derek would have the ability to block Stiles off from his powers. That was a horror story people loved to speculate about: bonding with a shifter you didn’t know very well and them deciding to cut the witch off from their magic whenever they liked. Stiles didn’t _really_ think Derek was the kind of person to do that, but he also didn’t know him very well.

Stiles could be stuck with Derek as his familiar forever, and vice versa. Bonding should be taken seriously, always, but it could be broken under certain circumstances. They’d have to appeal to people who would fine them for unsupervised and dangerous familiar bonding, or expel them for the same thing. Maybe both.

Stiles rubbed his face. “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done,” he mumbled, and opened the door.

Derek was leaning on the wall by the stairs. “I was starting to wonder if you were just going to leave.”

“I was thinking about what a terrible idea this is.”

“Of course it’s a terrible idea. Do you have a better one?”

Stiles scowled. “No.”

“Okay. Let’s go then.”

Boyd was on the third floor. It felt like they were walking to the gallows. Stiles tried to think of all the pros of doing this, but he kept replaying the drawbacks with each step. 

Derek scoffed at him and stormed ahead. He was on the second floor when Stiles caught up. He shot him an unimpressed look and knocked on 42B.

Boyd answered; Stiles had seen him in the cafeteria a few times, sitting with Laura and Derek. “You’re a dumbass, and this is a terrible idea,” he announced. “That being said, you’re not going to like the process, which I think is probably punishment enough.” He smiled widely. “Come on in.” He glanced over at Stiles, took in his expression, and nodded approvingly. 

They followed him inside. 

Bonded dorms were a little bigger than regular dorms, so that gave them more space to work with. The beds had been pushed out of the way, clearing the middle of the floor.

A blonde woman stood at a desk facing them, her arms crossed. A smile curled her red-painted mouth. “Derek. I _really_ didn’t think you had it in you.”

He scowled at her. “It’s important.”

She held her hands up. “Believe me, I’m aware.” She waved at Boyd. “He’s been going on for weeks about this stuff.”

“The attacks,” Boyd clarified. “Whoever’s doing this is powerful enough to block my sight.” He frowned over at the desk for a second, then sighed and shook his head.

“I’m Erica,” the woman said. “Since neither of these boneheads is going to introduce me.”

Derek winced.

“Sorry. So.” Boyd clapped his hands together. “Basically, since you’re skipping pre-bonding preparations, we’ll have to improvise. Pre-bonding is a good thing, because it gives you time to brace for how close you’ll be after the bond.” 

“We _know_ , Boyd.” Derek rubbed his face. “What do we do?”

“We’re going to cast the pre-bonding circle and you two are going to sit in it for an hour at least,” Erica said. She looked stern and serious for the first time since they’d arrived. “You’re going to share your darkest secrets, because once you know the other one already knows your skeletons, you’ll be more at ease. If you don’t,” she said sharply, when they both scoffed, “then you’ll be more focused on hiding your secrets than learning to control your powers.”

Stiles groaned, because she was absolutely right, and it wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to tell Derek everything. He didn’t want to tell anyone everything. 

Derek looked just as hesitant, as if he was wondering if it was still worth it. He set his jaw. “Alright.”

“Fine,” Stiles mumbled.

“Great. While you guys are talking, Boyd and I will be out getting dinner. Derek can text one of us when you’re done, and we’ll move on to the next step.”

This was going to be terrible.

Erica cast the circle. She did so with practiced ease, though she’d only had magic for two and a half years. 

Stiles was sort of fascinated, watching her walk clockwise and flick her hands like she’d been doing it her whole life. 

Boyd drew a chalk circle in her wake. “Just to keep you guys within the bounds.” He started drawing wards for privacy and to keep bad spirits out along the edge. 

Erica murmured something that had Boyd nodding. She brought her hands together; a flash of blue light exploded in the circle she’d walked. “Step in.” 

Stiles didn’t move. “Are you sure you know how to do this?”

She lifted a brow at him. “Who else would you go to? Plus, we did this ourselves two years ago. We remember how it was done.”

Derek went into the circle first; he shuddered as he stepped over the chalk. After a second, his shoulders relaxed.

Stiles clenched his fists and stepped in. Magic drifted over him like a shroud, gentle and cool. He felt calm and safe, like nothing could hurt him in here.

“There.” Boyd looked pleased. “You two talk. Don’t hold back.”

“It’s for your own good,” Erica added. “We’ll be back in two hours if you don’t text us.” She grabbed her purse and waved over her shoulder. 

Boyd closed the door behind him as he left.

Stiles looked at Derek, tense again. “Where do we start?” he asked awkwardly. He didn’t want to go first. 

Derek rolled his eyes and sat cross legged on the floor. 

Stiles did the same. There was only just enough space; their knees touched. 

“Worst first?” Derek suggested. He looked as bothered by that as Stiles, at least. 

“I guess.”

After a beat of silence, Derek rolled his eyes and dug a quarter out of his pocket. “Call it.”

“Tails,” Stiles blurted. 

Derek flipped the coin. It landed on the floor to his left, tails up. He rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He shook his shoulders and closed his eyes. “My first girlfriend almost—almost died because of me.” His eyes opened. “She was a witch. We were messing around and a spell, um, backfired.” He swallowed. “My fault, I talked her into it.” His jaw flexed. “She told everyone that I didn’t know what she was trying to do, so that we both didn’t get in trouble. She was hospitalized for two months. I healed about ten minutes after…”

“After what?”

He rubbed his forehead. “The spell backfired and blew up half of her house. We were alone there and looking through some old books her dad had.” His jaw flexed again. “When we—she tried to do the spell and we found a way to boost her powers with my blood and—I don’t even remember what happened, she said the spell and then parts of the house were falling on me.” His gaze dropped to his lap. “If the neighbor hadn’t called the ambulance so quickly—he was a Seer—she would have died. I found her with a piece of pipe through her left leg.” His hands opened and closed uselessly on his knees.

Stiles’s throat burned. He wanted to ask questions, but it felt too invasive, too callous. “Oh,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”

Derek lifted his brows. 

Stiles flushed. It was his turn. He drew in a shaky breath. It was only fair. Derek had shared his story. “Um, when I was…probably seven? I think seven…someone in our town let a demi-demon loose. I didn’t know what it was at the time, because my mom was strict and never let demonic portals open in the house.” His voice was trembling. He hated that. “I was supposed to stay with Scott that day, but I heard a voice and followed it into the woods, and I was only a kid, you know?” He rubbed his palms against his jeans. “So it was really easy for the demi-demon to just…slip in.” His eyes lowered with the memory, sharp in his brain even after so many years. “It was like going to sleep in my own head. There was a search for me, because I’d been gone so long—she wanted to get used to my body, really sift through my memories, before she went back—and she played it off so well that my parents didn’t even know.” 

Derek didn’t make a sound, which made it easier to keep going.

“For two weeks, she played…me…like she was playing dress up. When she could get away from my parents, she did terrible things. Set fires, hurt small animals, people if she could. She hadn’t been out in centuries, you see.” He had to swallow so he could speak. “So she was celebrating. Since I didn’t want her there, and since I’m a Summoner, I started to fight her after a while. She put us to sleep one night to rest and I got control again. I opened a portal—the one I knew would lead to her home, since she thought about it so much.” Stiles didn’t look at Derek’s face. Whatever he saw there was going to irritate him. “There was a demon on the other side—huge, so huge I couldn’t comprehend it and started crying. I was exhausted, I’d done bad things, and I was outside after bedtime, so I was going to get in trouble. The demon noticed me.” He cleared his throat. “He saw the demi-demon inside me right away and plucked her out. He said, “I will deal with you later.” Then he shoved her into this white box that made her scream and scream…”

“And then?” Derek prompted after a moment. 

Stiles twisted his fingers together. “He told me to let him out, so I did, and he took me home. Efeni is a…very powerful entity. He can look human here, so he did, and he explained everything to my mother.” Stiles rubbed a fist over his cheek. “So now he’s been my mentor ever since then.” He blew out a breath. “That was long.”

Derek stared at him.

“That was the worst I have, though.”

He nodded slowly. He cleared his throat. “When I was ten, I met an old friend of my mother’s, Deucalion. He’s a shifter, too. He’s blind. There was some sort of…accident, or maybe he was assaulted—I don’t really remember. It was the first time I’d ever met a shifter with a permanent injury. It scared me, because at that point, I’d thought we were basically invincible. I made myself scarce every time he came over after that first meeting.” He sighed, looking faintly embarrassed. “I’ve had a fear of going blind ever since. I can’t shake it. I have nightmares sometimes,” he admitted almost defiantly. 

Stiles nodded. “My mom died when I was thirteen. She had to send a message from the afterlife before I got out of the spiral that sent me into.” 

Derek frowned thoughtfully, looking down at his knees. Something in his face softened, the serious expression easing. “When I was twelve, I broke a really expensive lamp and blamed Cora. Everyone still teases her about it. I’ve never owned up to it.”

Stiles managed a smile. “Until now.”

“You will _never_ tell them,” Derek ordered. “Cora thinks one of our cousins did it and blamed her and everyone else thinks she just won’t admit it.”

Stiles squinted. “Alright.” He rubbed his palms on his jeans. “When we were fifteen, Scott and I stole some of my dad’s whiskey and got drunk in the woods. We got so freaked out that we called Allison, thinking we were going to get basically murdered by our parents—but it turned out some moron had broken into my house that same night, while we were out, and ransacked the place. My dad still doesn’t know that the burglar didn’t take his Tennessee Honey.” He bit his thumb nail. “I think that’s the luckiest I’ve ever gotten. Allison still laughs at us about it, though.” 

Derek nodded, almost looking impressed. “I told my parents I was studying art in Europe, but I was staying with a pack of wolf shifters who stayed in their wolf forms twenty-four seven.”

“Is that why you started late here?”

He nodded. “It was nice, but I missed things this way.”

“Missed the internet?” Stiles teased.

“Indoor plumbing,” he said darkly.

Stiles laughed. He found it much easier after the first two, like the worst that’d ever happened to him was out and everything was just easier. Simple. 

Before long, they were simply trading childhood stories, rather than deep, dark secrets. Derek realized an hour and forty-five minutes had passed.

“I’d better text Boyd,” he said. He pulled his phone out slowly, almost regretfully.

Stiles leaned back. His body felt relaxed and a little sore, like he’d gotten a massage. He guessed talking was therapeutic. 

No time at all seemed to pass before Boyd and Erica were back. Erica paused in the doorway. “Wow, nice work, you two. I didn’t think Derek would actually talk.”

“What?”

“Your auras,” Boyd explained. “They’re blending really well. That just means our improvisation worked.” 

“Oh. Good. What next?”

“Binding ceremony. Stand up, but stay in the circle.” 

Stiles stood and held a hand out to help Derek up; he felt a little jolt when their palms clasped. He assumed that was a good sign.

Erica went to the desk and lit some incense. “Frangipani, eslium, sun holly—basic stuff to promote cooperation. Smells good, too.”

Boyd brought two cups to them. “ _Religo_ potion.” He held the cups out. “To tether you together.” His gaze flicked over each of their faces. “Are you _sure_ about this?”

“Yes.” Derek took both cups. He held Stiles’s out to him. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” He took his cup.

Boyd lit seven candles around the room with a wave of his hand.

Erica approached with a long blue ribbon.

“Whoa, hey-” they both started.

She rolled her eyes. “The ceremony is similar to handfasting but don’t worry, you aren’t getting married. Now hold still.” She twined the ribbon around the hand Derek was using to hold his cup, then did the same to Stiles. “The blue is for trust and cooperation. You two will be a team now,” she intoned, and Stiles realized the ritual had begun. “You will share everything. Power. Pain. Life. Death. Drink the potion and lie on your backs.” 

The potion tasted coppery and thin, with a hint of flowers. Somehow they managed to lay down without tangling or unwrapping the ribbon.

As the potion worked into his system, Stiles started to feel floaty, disconnected. His skin was buzzing pleasantly, like he was energized, but his brain was calm in the way it usually only was right before sleep claimed him. His eyes stayed wide open.

“Stiles, your magic will be multiplied, stronger than ever. Derek, your strength will be expanded, almost limitless. Stiles will have your abilities. Derek will have your magic. You’ll have each other’s strengths—and weaknesses.” 

Boyd picked up from there. “Your spells will be more potent, your senses keener, your conscious minds connected. You’ll help each other and more than likely hinder each other until you figure out your powers. You’ll shift, you’ll Summon, you’ll cast, you’ll communicate like you share a mind.”

Lights danced above them, orange, blue, and gold, circling and weaving around them.

Boyd murmured in Greek, and Erica picked up in Hebrew.

Stiles heard the binding chant, heard some words he recognized. He was distantly surprised to realize he wasn’t bothered that he didn’t know exactly what they were saying. He stared at the lights and smiled faintly. Something tugged on the ribbon, drawing his attention toward Derek.

Orange light was gathering over him, shifting and expanding until it hovered over him head to toe. He tipped his head toward Stiles and cracked a grin. 

Stiles grinned back.

“And settle,” Erica said—no, Boyd said, and it was in Greek. 

The lights above them drifted lazily down, goldblueorange, settling soft and cool on top of them. The ribbon tightened around Stiles’s wrist, snaking up his arm to his elbow.

The lights dimmed and seemed to sink into his skin.

He shuddered. His eyes popped open wide. Power coursed through him, all consuming like a fire, burning from one joint to the next. It was somewhere between terrifying and exhilarating. His hand spasmed and claws dug into the hardwood beneath his back. 

That was new.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I hope you enjoy this chapter! :D This was a fun one, too. ^^

Every class about shapeshifting that Stiles had ever taken flew out of his head. Scents and noises bombarded him from every direction. His hands jumped to cover his ears, claws prickling at his scalp. He could hear hearts pumping and pounding footsteps like someone had set an elephant loose in the dorms. The smell of Erica’s perfume was overwhelming, burning all through his sinuses and into his lungs. He could smell Derek sweating beside him, and the ozone scent of magic, tinged with citrus.

There were too many things going on at once for him to really understand any of it. 

Somehow, he’d managed to forget that the bond was a two way street. He’d been so absorbed with the idea that he’d have to share his magic that he’d forgotten Derek would be sharing his abilities, too—all of them. 

Stiles’s eyes wheeled around, catching on bright reds and muted blues.

Beside him, Derek whimpered, fear spiking through him. A velvety soft blanket dropped over both of them, blocking out the light and dulling the sounds for a moment.

They weren’t conjurers, usually, but Stiles didn’t feel their new, surging power even flicker, like they had more than enough to spare for conjuring something so big and solid.

“Oh no, nope, no, that’s not going to help.” Erica’s voice boomed. She whipped the blanket off of them.

Stiles whined, high and reedy, squeezing his eyes shut.

“That won’t help you, either.” Boyd’s voice was quieter; it sounded like normal speaking volume to Stiles, except the cadence was that of a whisper. “I’m going to take your hands away now.” He circled his wrists and tugged. 

Stiles fought at first, but since Boyd was also bonded, they were equally matched. He glared at him as he dragged his hands away from his head. “Stop—it’s too loud.”

“You have to learn how to tune things out—how do you think the rest of us manage?”

Flowers popped into existence, daisies and bluebells and marigolds drifting to the floor. Lights flashed as Derek struggled to control the magic rushing through him.

“Focus on me for now,” Boyd instructed. “You’ll have time later for Derek. You’re useless to everyone if you can’t move.”

Stiles glared at him again. 

“It’s like your normal senses. You have to learn to tune things out, not to listen so closely. Eventually you’ll get used to certain noises. Here.” Boyd pressed something into his hands.

A tiny package of ear plugs. Stiles ripped them open. When he got them into his ears, he sighed. He could still hear, more than he’d ever been able to hear before, but it was less intense. Now he could focus on the scents overrunning his brain. He rubbed his face. “What is that smell?”

“The flowers,” Boyd replied. “You’ll have to get used to that, since there isn’t much you can do about scents. Luckily for you, it’s instinctive, and you’re a witch, so it probably won’t drive you insane.”

“What?”

Boyd flashed a grin. “We’re built to acclimate to this. You’ll get used to it. You and Derek should go somewhere private to practice.”

“Why can’t we stay here?” The idea of going beyond these four walls, with hundreds of people, noises, and smells, was daunting.

“Because you two need to figure it out together. Your bond still needs to settle, and you need more space.” Boyd stood and held his hands out. “But first, get up so I can show you how to put those away.”

Stiles let himself get pulled to his feet. He swayed; the scent of the flowers was so powerful he thought he’d never smell anything else again. They were permanently damaging his nose.

“Hey. Focus. You’re fine.” Boyd waved a hand; the flowers disappeared. “Hold out your hands.”

Stiles complied. Claws tipped his fingers. He stared at them, fascinated. With the flowers gone, he felt less like a bouquet had been shoved up his nose. He could concentrate again.

“They’re like that because you’re freaking out. Calm yourself down, pull the shift back. Your body is reacting like you need to protect yourself. You’re safe, so chill out.” 

Stiles reacted like he would to an impending panic attack. He concentrated on his breathing, made it even and useful. His heart began to slow first; the claws shrank away. 

Beyond Boyd, Erica was coaching Derek on controlling the new magic. He was hunched over, eyes wide, as the magic controlled him.

“She’s got it,” Boyd said. “Look,” he sighed. “The only one who can really help is you. You know your magic, how it works. We’ll do what we can, but your best bet is to just practice together. The bond will help you.”

“Did it help _you_?”

“Yes,” he responded evenly. 

Stiles nodded. “Okay.” 

A mirror above one of the desks trembled. Derek cringed, hands digging into his own hair

Stiles swore. “Portal,” he explained. He had to stop it from opening; Derek didn’t know where he was opening it to or what would come through. Trying to remember how to close someone else’s portal, he looked over at the mirror. It shattered. 

“Hey!” Erica shouted.

Stiles yelped, covering his ears. “I’ll replace it!”

“We can repair it.” Boyd held a hand out. “It’s fine.”

“Sorry,” Derek grunted. 

Erica frowned at him. “What for?”

“He was opening a portal on accident.” Stiles swallowed. “I just meant to stop it.”

“You guys definitely need to go somewhere. This is only going to help if you can control it. You both know your own abilities better than anyone, which means you’re each other’s best options,” Erica said flatly.

“Derek’s your familiar now,” Boyd told Stiles. “You’re responsible for helping him with your magic.”

Stiles glowered at him, but Erica was saying almost the same thing to Derek, only about shifting, so he guessed it was fair. 

“Time to shove the baby birds out of the nest,” Erica announced, standing. She pulled Derek to his feet, steadying him when he wobbled. “You’ll both be fine. Just, you know, don’t get caught, or we’ll all get in trouble. Bye now, have fun!” 

Boyd opened the door.

Derek looked pale and confused. 

Stiles took a breath and stepped out first. The sounds were muted by the earplugs, thankfully, but he could still basically hear everything. The hallway smelled like sweat and feet and cleaning chemicals. He wasn’t sure which was worse. 

Derek stepped out behind him, standing so close he could feel his breath on the back of his neck; it didn’t bother him like it usually would have.

“Where should we go?” he murmured. 

“Summoning building. Crime scene closed.”

“Is that—um.” Stiles shook his head. “Where did he kill-”

“Not there.”

Stiles nodded. “Okay.”

It was getting dark, but the moon was full, and it didn’t—Stiles could still _see_ everything. Everything that moved caught his attention. He could hear a small heart beating nearby and nearly pounced.

Derek caught his arm and stopped him, giving him a quick shake.

A bird flew out of a nearby bush; Stiles’s head whipped around to watch its ascent. 

The smells were worse and better outside; everything was out in the open and at the mercy of elements, so nothing had a chance to get too strong. The trees and grass smelled pleasant, the sidewalk less so, but there were so many other things around that it wasn’t debilitating. 

Mostly, he could smell Derek, sweat, shampoo, his dinner. It wasn’t a good or a bad smell. Just…Derek. It was calming to have a neutral scent so close.

They walked so close together they might as well have put their arms around each other. It wasn’t bad. The bond was probably still settling, so it made sense they’d want to stick near each other. Magic could be volatile if it wasn’t used right; who knew what would happen if they tested a brand new familiar bond before it was settled. 

This was probably why the ritual was performed by people who knew what they were doing, and in stages. 

Stiles could smell the chlorine before they even got to the door. He grimaced, holding his wrist to his nose. “God, does it always smell this strong to you?”

“Not _this_ strong. The bond boosts both of our abilities, remember?”

He nodded.

Derek opened the door.

The wave of chlorine nearly doubled Stiles over. His stomach twisted in on itself. “Ugh, yuck.”

Derek frowned at him. “It’s strong, but I didn’t think it was that bad.”

Stiles shook his head. “It’s—never mind.”

Derek’s face cleared. He looked into the building. “We can go somewhere else.”

“This is the closest place we can be alone. It’s fine. I’ll get used to the smell.”

“It isn’t the _smell_ that’s making you sick,” Derek said harshly. 

Concern zinged through Stiles, separate from his own emotions. He straightened indignantly. “What is it then, genius?”

Derek sighed loudly. “You almost died in here—in the pool. You’re afraid.”

“I am _not_.”

“Yes, you are. I can feel it.”

Stiles scowled at him. “This is going to get old really fast.”

“Look, there’s some other place, I’m sure-”

“We’re using this.” Stiles shoved past him, breathing through his mouth. Chlorine still burned his nostrils, but he was moving now, at least. He went to a grouping of mirrors, as far from the pool as he could get. The pool cover was still mostly off, from where he’d fallen in. No one had bothered fixing it.

Derek closed the door before he followed him in. There was enough moonlight coming in from the windows that they didn’t need any extra light sources. “You weren’t under very long,” he said. “I saw you hit the water and ran to you.”

Stiles shrugged and turned away. “I’m fine.”

Derek smirked. “You aren’t.”

“How do _you_ —oh.” 

“We should practice,” Derek said, apparently deciding to let it go. “We can’t have you randomly shifting or me doing magic on accident, or we’ll get caught.”

“No shit.” Stiles rolled his shoulders. “I’ve taken a year and a half of shifter classes. Strength/control, Hunting, PhysEd.” He nodded firmly. “I should be able to do this.”

Derek snorted. “Right.”

“Oh, like you’re much better. You conjured flowers.”

He deflated. “I-” He shrugged. “So we both need to practice. How should we start?”

“Mine’s the most noticeable,” Stiles said grudgingly. “I guess you’d better start with shifting.”

Derek nodded and held up a hand. Claws flashed along his fingertips, then away. He did it again, slower, one finger at a time. “Try that.”

Stiles held up his hand. It was lucky the familiar bond worked the way it did; he could feel the way Derek concentrated, the spike of satisfaction he got when he shifted right, the sensation of letting a repressed muscle flex, so he could emulate it. He flexed his fingers. After a moment, claws grew, but all at once. “Does it _really_ matter if I can do them separately? We want to keep me from shifting, so…” The claws receded.

“It matters. The more control over each individual part of the shift you have, the easier it’ll be to stop from shifting accidentally.”

Stiles supposed that made sense. He sighed and flexed his hand. The claws slid out again, and again all at once. “I am _not_ this bad a student!” he seethed. 

“Of course not,” Derek said, and Stiles couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. “Here, this is how we learned.” He held up his own hand again and carefully pressed their palms together. 

Stiles tried not to jump when he felt the jolt of contact again. “Now what?” He shrugged when Derek shot him an impatient look.

“You just need to wait. Watch.”

Stiles looked at their hands. He was about to ask what he was watching for when he felt Derek’s index finger shift, the tiniest ripple of movement. 

A claw slowly extended from his fingertip, growing and curving just so.

“Whoa,” he whispered.

“Now you.”

Stiles’s brows furrowed in concentration. He could feel the shift now, as slowly as he was going. He felt when all of his fingers tensed and, gritting his teeth, managed to hold the others back, unsheathing just one. “Ha! Oh, crap,” he cursed as all of them popped out.

Derek was actually smiling. “You’re not doing too badly. Don’t fight it so hard. Concentrate on what you _want_ to happen, instead of what you’re trying to prevent.”

Stiles frowned. “Alright…For the record, I don’t think that will work.”

“I’ve been shifting for twenty-five years. I know what I’m talking about.” He shifted his middle finger and lifted his brows at Stiles.

Stiles sighed. What he wanted, not what he didn’t. He focused hard on his second finger, mundane and human, pressed up against Derek’s shifted fingertip. He inhaled; he tried to recapture the feeling of the shift. The pad of Derek’s finger was rough, like a canine’s paw pad. Inhale, exhale, shift.

To his surprise, it worked. He felt a flash of satisfaction, like he’d figured it out. He did the next finger, then the next, over and over. He laughed and looked up at Derek. “Guess I got it.”

Derek smiled. “Erica said we’d have each other’s strengths. Maybe that meant we share my control.”

Stiles nodded, but he suddenly felt a sinking sensation. Erica had _also_ said they’d share each other’s weaknesses. 

Derek’s fingers suddenly folded, threading through Stiles’s. “It’s going to be okay. We’re getting the hang of it.”

Stiles frowned at him until he realized Derek had sensed his anxiety. Boy, was he in for it if he reacted every time Stiles got anxious. “What next?”

“Tuning out sounds. You were overwhelmed at first, but you seem okay now.” 

“I have earplugs in,” Stiles admitted. He reached up, untangling their hands, and pulled them out. “I still feel okay.” His own voice made him wince, sharp and loud in the closed space. 

“It’s just us in here,” Derek pointed out. “Look, you have ADHD, right?”

Stiles stared at him. “How do you know that?”

He shrugged. “You did a project on magical treatments for attention deficit disorders last year, and spoke about medications versus potions.”

Stiles blinked rapidly. “Okay.” 

Derek nodded. “Okay. So tuning things out is hard. Instead of trying not to listen to all of it at once, try to turn your attention inward. Your own heartbeat, your breath; on top of that, focus on someone else. Me, Scott, Allison—anyone who’s in the room that you know. It’s not a perfect solution, but maybe my ability to tune things out will transfer to you, too.”

Stiles tugged at his hair. “So—great, so I have to-”

“You’ll get used to it,” Derek said firmly. “You just need practice.” He looked around thoughtfully, gaze catching on the hallways. “I’m going to hide somewhere in here, and you’re going to find me with just your hearing.”

Stiles scoffed. “Are you—you’re joking, right?”

“No.” He turned away.

“Derek! We don’t have time to play hide and seek!”

He kept walking. “No magic. Just your senses!”

Stiles threw his hands up, shouting in frustration. The sound echoed off the high ceilings and made him wince. 

So they were playing hide and seek. Stiles gave in and counted to fifteen out loud, facing the wall, before he turned around. The chlorine from the pool was so strong he couldn’t smell Derek, which meant Derek was right and he’d just have to listen for him. 

At first, all he could hear was the pool filter, gurgling away, and the distant chatter of people outside. Then he heard a heartbeat, steady as a metronome, past the pool and into one of the short halls of the main room.

Stiles followed it, head tipped toward the sound. He walked on the balls of his feet without knowing why, creeping past the shallow crater in the floor where the summoning circle was obliterated. 

The hall where Derek’s heartbeat was coming from had several closed doors in close proximity to each other, so it was hard to figure out where he was at first. Stiles finally figured out that pausing near each door gave him a moment to hear if it got louder. He had to backtrack a couple times before deciding on the third room.

“Again,” Derek said, getting up. He’d been sitting on a table in the middle of the room. 

Stiles scowled. “You’re supposed to reward success.”

“Congrats, you found me. Again.”

Stiles felt like he was definitely putting off practicing magic, but that was okay. He’d just put him through the wringer when it was his turn.

Thankfully, Derek only insisted on another half hour of practice, during which Stiles figured out that Derek’s heartbeat faster the closer he got to finding him, he actually _was_ happy when Stiles made progress, and even though he didn’t show it, he was curious and nervous about learning to _use_ the magic. 

“Okay, now the fun part,” Stiles said after he’d found Derek again.

Derek scoffed. “You had fun.”

Stiles grinned at him. “Yeah, I did. This is going to be fun, too.” He practically skipped over to a group of mirrors and sat on the floor. 

Derek looked at the tiles, then at the mirrors. “Do we have to sit by the mirrors?”

“Yes. Mirrors are our medium. Sit.” 

Derek shuffled forward and sat down, looking uneasy. “What’re we going to do?”

Stiles took a deep, slow breath. “We’re going to open a portal to the afterlife. You need the practice.” He looked at the mirror to his right, frowning. He considered letting Derek practice by summoning Claudia, but if she thought Stiles was going to get hurt, she would most definitely find a way to stop it. She wasn’t exactly a stickler for the rules, had broken a fair few herself, and had even let Stiles bend them on occasion, but this…this was an entire other level of rule breaking. She might decide he was better off not doing this, and while he didn’t think she would go to anyone who could expel Stiles, she would _definitely_ find a way to tell John. 

Plus, she wasn’t afraid to give Stiles a piece of her mind even from the afterlife, and honestly, he wasn’t sure he could stick to his guns in the face of her disappointment. 

“Stiles?”

He looked up. “We’re going to open a portal to the afterlife. We don’t have to contact anyone in particular.”

Derek studied his face, looking concerned. “Alright…”

“The afterlife is the closest, so it’ll be good, easy practice.” Stiles bit the inside of his cheek. “I usually use my hands to direct my magic. Since we have each other as a boost, you probably don’t _need_ the mirror, but it’ll help for the first few times.”

Derek nodded. “Okay. So how do I actually open the portal?”

“It should feel instinctive. Reach out and pull it open the way you would with a duffle bag.” When Derek made a face, he said, “Sounds silly, but the visual actually helps. You have to feel for a give.”

“A give where?”

Stiles chewed at his cheek, then winced when he tasted a burst of blood. “In the air, I guess. The universe? In our world. You’ll feel it. The mirror will guide you, it’ll act like a doorway. Just push on it. With your mind, obviously, but you can sorta use your hands. Like this.” He flicked a hand the way he did normally to open portals. To his surprise, he felt a ripple of energy, midair, a portal ready to open at his fingertips given the slightest nudge of his magic. He shook it off. “Now you try. If you feel something, go with it.”

Derek looked hesitant. “What if I do a spell?”

“You won’t. You’d have to think a little harder for that, at least.” He smiled though, sensing Derek’s remaining unease. “I’ll tell you if you’re doing a spell, okay? I’m right here.”

He relaxed. “Okay.” He let out a slow breath, then sucked it back in. “Okay.” He lifted both hands, then dropped one, embarrassment flicking over his face.

“Just do it,” Stiles ordered. “Overthinking it is just going to throw you off, so just-”

“Okay!” Derek snapped. He flicked his hand. A portal ripped open on the mirror, spreading from corner to corner so fast Stiles almost missed it happening. Derek’s mouth fell open. He looked fascinated. “It’s so dark,” he said.

Stiles laughed. “Yeah, it’s the afterlife, dude.” He tipped his head, examining the edges of the portal; the wards were gleaming gold and orange. “And it looks like it’s the inside of a building.”

“There are _buildings_ in the afterlife?”

“Well, not the way we have buildings, but…close enough.” Stiles leaned closer. “You can close it if you want, or reach out. Someone will have sensed the portal open.” 

“Someone?”

“Well, yeah. You weren’t calling for anyone in particular, so no one is drawn to the portal. But they can sense it. Summoners have a life force that draws the dead and demons. Sometimes they’ll come to say-”

“Hi!” A tiny girl in braids popped into existence in front of the portal. She waved excitedly, all but pressing her nose against the opening.

The wards along the edge flashed a warning.

The girl frowned.

Derek looked horrified. “Hi,” he said slowly.

Stiles grimaced. Not exactly a great introduction to the world of summoning. He looked at the girl, who was looking slightly hurt at Derek’s reaction to her greeting. “Hi! What’s your name?” he said, because it wasn’t her fault. 

“Maria! You guys are pretty,” she said brightly. “Momma says the pretty glow means you can see us, and I guess that’s true because you said hi back.” She beamed.

“Yes, it is. We just wanted to say hello. Do you know where your mom is?”

She nodded, braids flapping. “She was going to visit her grandma, and we were going to see her because I’ve _never_ met Mommy’s _grandma_ , she said that’s _my_ grandma’s mom!”

“You better catch up, then! They’re going to be wondering where you went.”

Her eyes widened. “Bye!” She vanished as suddenly as she’d appeared.

Stiles glanced at Derek. “Close the portal before someone else comes.”

“ _How_?”

Impatient, Stiles swept a hand over the air in front of the mirror. The portal snapped shut instantly. He didn’t say anything for a moment. There wasn’t much _to_ say.

“So—when you die, you can meet your family?” Derek asked. 

Stiles looked at him. He knew he was purposely shifting the focus from the depressing truth—people could die whenever, and it showed—and he appreciated it. “Yep. It’s much easier to trace lineage once you’ve died. You’re drawn together, at least at first. It’s sort of…to make sure you know what you’re doing when you get there. Also sheds light on family secrets sometimes,” he mused. “Taking it to the grave doesn’t really help much _after_ the grave.” He looked at Derek. “Got any great grandparents you wanted to talk to?”

He shook his head. “Not right now.” 

“Let’s practice some other stuff, then.”

 

It was late when they decided to stop practicing for the night. They’d done all sorts of magic and shifting and had barely broken the surface of their new, deeper well of power. Spells came easily, no incantation required. Once Stiles figured out to relax and trust the instincts he could feel fighting to the surface, even the shifting became easier.

Scott had texted him at eleven that he was going to be at the clinic all night. Allison texted soon after asking if he wanted to get dinner together the next night. Stiles agreed to go. 

“S’getting late,” Derek commented.

They were sitting side by side against the wall. The pool wasn’t bothering Stiles as much anymore. He felt more drowsy than afraid; he didn’t want to move, let alone walk all the way to his dorm. Plus, the idea of separating was uncomfortable, so the bond still needed time to settle, probably. 

“A little longer,” he mumbled.

Derek nodded.

Stiles’s head tipped onto Derek’s shoulder two minutes later, but neither of them moved. A little longer wouldn’t hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any ADHD info in this chapter or the rest of this fic is mostly based on my own experience with ADHD and managing it. x)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm nearly done writing this, at which point I will have a final chapter count and I will begin posting twice a week! :D Hope you enjoy!

Irene’s was surprisingly busy at six in the morning. Stiles had to put his earplugs back in as soon as they got within twenty feet of the doors. He was surprised they even managed to get a booth, but the hostess just winked at Derek and led them right in. The scents were overwhelming enough that Stiles had to turn his face against his hoodie for a second, just breathing until he could look up without getting dizzy. 

“I’m Logan, I’ll be your server this morning, what can I get you to drink?” He spoke in a rush, but he was smiling, attentive and cheery despite the crowd. 

“We’ll have water and coffee, both of us,” Stiles said, grinning up at him.

“Sure thing. I’ll be right back with that for you guys.” He shot off.

“How much coffee do you think he’s had?” Stiles mused.

“Probably not enough.” Derek glowered around the diner like everyone there was only eating at Irene’s to piss him off personally. Derek apparently did not like crowds. Go figure.

“Why are we here?” Stiles asked, and felt déjà vu. He wasn’t as frustrated this time. “Scott’s going to wonder where I am.”

“At six in the morning?”

“Yeah, are you kidding? I’m never up this early if I don’t have to be.” He shook his head. Six in the morning usually looked pretty bad after staying up all night, but this was worse. 

“You’re an adult,” Derek pointed out, disgusted. 

“That’s right, and I’m exercising my right as an adult to sleep as late as I want when I have the chance.”

Derek snorted.

Logan brought their drinks. “So, ready to order, guys?”

“Yes.” Stiles grinned and ordered enough sweet breakfast food to make Derek lean away in disgust.

Derek ordered eggs and sausage. 

“Right. So now that we have extra…a boost, we need to make a plan.” Stiles pulled a pen out of his pocket and grabbed a napkin. “Clearly, it’s a member of staff or a student.”

“Not necessarily. A former student or someone visiting could be involved.”

Stiles sighed. “Right.” He tapped the pen. 

Derek glared at him. 

He stopped tapping and started twirling it between his fingers instead. “Whoever it is, I don’t think they’re trying to make a deal with the demon.”

“No?”

He shook his head, swallowing. “Efeni takes those Accords very seriously. I can’t imagine someone breaking them on purpose—and so severely. But…if whoever summoned them is trying to _bind_ the demon to them, they would have all the powers of the demon at their disposal.”

“Like a familiar?”

Stiles frowned. He didn’t like that comparison, but it was too close to the truth to argue with. “I guess, but it’s unwilling, and one-sided.” He fidgeted with his napkin. “Basically, the witch summons the demon into a really powerful binding circle—it would take a lot of prep just to make the circle—and then forcibly binds the demon to them. It takes away their will, and gives the witch complete control of them.”

“But not their powers?”

Stiles lifted his hand, palm up. “A person has to be possessed to have demonic powers. But, I mean, why bother, with a demon at your disposal? It would have to do whatever the witch said anyway.” 

“What makes you think it’s bound? It still could be here because of a deal.” Derek tugged the napkin away so Stiles would stop messing with it.

He shook his head. “Not sure. Something. That circle in the Summoning building…I got a glance at the wards, and heard the chant, but I don’t remember either of them for some reason.”

“You _were_ hit with a spell,” Derek pointed out. “And almost drowned.”

He smiled. “Well, if I didn’t know any better, Derek, I’d think you were telling me not to be so hard on myself.” 

“I’m saying don’t jump to conclusions,” he said flatly. 

Stiles snorted. “Well, I think this is still the best bet.” 

“So what do we do about it?”

Stiles rubbed his jaw. “Normally? Tell the proper authorities and get the hell out of the way. Now? That person most certainly saw me _at least_ , and they know who you are for sure.” He flicked a glance at Derek’s arm. “So now we’re involved, possibly targets, actually, almost definitely targets, since they know we saw them.”

Derek nodded slowly. “Alright.”

Their food arrived. 

“Thanks.” Stiles grinned at their waiter, then turned back to Derek. 

Who was staring after their waiter as he walked away.

Stiles cleared his throat. “Let’s focus. You can ogle the waiter later.” 

“What?” Derek snapped, turning to face him again.

“I just mean, flirt on your own time, we have stuff to do. It’s no big deal,” Stiles continued. 

“I was not-”

“Please. You looked like you were willing his clothes to catch on fire,” Stiles snickered. “Better be careful. You can do that now.”

He looked horrified. “I didn’t want to-”

“Great! Okay, what we know: the first attack here was a shifter. The demi-demon? And the second was the shifter dorm-”

“You forgot the poltergeist,” he said stiffly, still annoyed. 

“Oh, well, I didn’t think that was connected.” Stiles waved a hand and scooped up a bite of waffle. “It didn’t hurt anyone, and it wasn’t demonic. Everything else has been.” 

“Fine.” Derek started eating his breakfast. “Then you forgot the other attack, the one off campus.”

“Oh, yeah.” Stiles grabbed his pen and pulled a napkin closer. “Okay, so the demi-demon thing in August, then the attack off campus, which might not be connected, but probably is…” He wrote those down, hesitated, then wrote “poltergeist (?)” under that, just in case. 

“Shifter dorm fire.”

“Right, and then the curse circles for us, the warning on your arm…” He nodded at him.

“Those aren’t _technically_ related,” Derek pointed out. “Curse circles and this were reactive, us investigating caused that.” 

“Point.” Stiles decided not to write them down. “Okay, so then there was the witch and familiar, when I had the nose bleed. Then the…the feeling in class last week.”

Derek nodded, scooping eggs onto his fork. He didn’t look as enthused about his food as he had a moment ago.

“And then the murders,” Stiles mumbled. He wrote that at the bottom carefully. Laid out like that, it became depressingly obvious what the common target was. “The common denominator is-”

“Shifters.” Derek grimaced and looked at the list somewhat bleakly. “The off-campus attack could’ve been a witch with a familiar.”

“Still, one of the attacks and the murders were a shifter/witch pair. So it’s still shifters, at least involved.” Stiles shook his head, disgusted. He could sense Derek’s outrage and a sort of helplessness he didn’t understand. 

“But why?” he asked under his breath. 

Why would a witch attack shifters? Why use a demon to do it? Why were people needlessly cruel in the first place? Stiles shook his head. “I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out.” 

“Could we try runes?” He winced after he asked, like just the thought was painful.

“I doubt they’d tell us anything,” Stiles picked at his plate. His appetite had waned with the rising understanding of the attacker’s pattern. “Whoever’s doing this is cloaking themselves. Easy to do if they have a demon’s power at their disposal.” Stiles traced a sigil on his leg, then another. 

“You do that a lot when you’re nervous?” Derek nodded at him. 

Stiles’s fingers stilled. “Uh. Yeah. Nervous habit. From after—my mom taught me how to protect myself from possession.”

“Right. Smart.” He looked at his uneaten eggs. 

“Well, Scott will appreciate the breakfast.”

“At least someone will.”

“Don’t share food with your roommate?”

Derek glowered at him. “I don’t share food with _anyone_.”

Stiles couldn’t help laughing. “Alright. Good to know.”

 

They headed back to the school after they’d paid and boxed up their leftovers. Derek had driven them after they’d woken up in the Summoning building they’d fallen asleep in.

“I can’t believe it’s only seven,” Stiles groaned, setting his boxes between his feet on the floor.

“Feels much later,” Derek agreed. “What’re your plans today?” It was a weirdly casual question, considering why they were there. 

Stiles shook off the confusion. “Probably sleeping, and then my bro date with Allison.” 

“Bro date?”

“If you don’t go on dates with your bros, what is the point, Derek?”

He smirked. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever taken a friend on a date.”

“You’ve never just gone to eat or to a movie, or something one-on-one with a single friend?”

A complicated emotion shimmered over the bond, something Stiles couldn’t identify. “I guess not,” Derek muttered. 

Stiles patted his shoulder. “Well, you should. It’s good for your soul.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind. But I don’t think it affects your soul.”

“It totally does.” Stiles settled back in his seat. “It’s seriously great. No pressure to impress anyone, there’s no weird groping when you’re just reaching for your dropped napkin. Plus, you get bro time.” 

“Does Allison know you call her your bro?” he asked dryly.

“Yes.” Stiles stuck his tongue out at him, then laughed. “I’ll text you later.”

“Okay.”

“I know you want to do something now, but…oh boy.”

Derek glanced at him, then back at the road. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, I was thinking we have to find a lead before we can do anything else.”

“Yeah.”

“And then I was thinking that a pretty good way of finding out who it is…” He looked out his window, mildly ashamed. “We could summon the ghosts of, um.”

“Oh.”

Stiles winced. “The thing is, if we do it before the funeral, the ghosts will still be around where they were murdered.” Shame made his gaze low. “They’ll be confused and angry, and there’s special training I—we would have to take to deal with traumatized newly dead, but—but if we talk to them-”

“The police have done that,” Derek said slowly. There was no disgust or horror from him, to Stiles’s relief, just a sort of cautious sensation. “When they found the bodies. They had a woman there—the same one who helped after the fire.”

Stiles nodded, caught between relief and disappointment. “Right.”

They drove to Stiles’s dorm first, in time to see someone crossing the parking lot with long, swaying strides. She was wearing a gray hoodie with the hood up, but Stiles recognized her. 

“Kate,” he muttered.

“Who?”

Stiles cleared his throat. “Kate Argent. She’s Allison’s aunt—you remember her, I’m sure.” 

A shiver of disgust went through them. “Oh. Her. I’ve seen her lurking around a lot lately.”

Stiles grimaced. “Weird. I’ll ask Allison why she’s still here. I thought she was just coming for a quick visit.”

Derek nodded, turning his face away as Kate walked near their car. “Okay.” 

Stiles could smell her through the windows, sweat and plaster dust, magic and… He inhaled, trying to get a better whiff, but she was already moving past. He took one of his earplugs out. 

Her heart was thumping quickly and, while she didn’t have headphones in, music could be heard coming from her person somewhere. 

“She was in the shifter dorm. The burned one. It’s almost done being repaired, but they won’t have been in there yet today.” Derek glared after her, watching as she dropped into a red sports car and pulled away. 

“I’ll get some info from Allison tonight,” Stiles promised.

“…’Kay.” 

“Why are you doubting me?”

Derek glowered at him. “That isn’t fair.” He inhaled steadily. “And I don’t think—I’m not doubting you. I’m doubting that Allison will tell you anything if Kate is doing something.”

“Does Cora know you don’t trust Allison? Or is it all witches? Because, dude, you came to the wrong school if that is the case.” 

Derek shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t trust…” He grimaced. “Alright, maybe I have some trust issues. Can you blame me? It’s mostly shifters being killed and attacked.”

Stiles nodded. “I know. But remember we’re a team, so you I have to trust _me_ when I say I’ll find out.”

“I do.” 

“Really?”

He smirked. “I can tell when you lie now, so yes, I trust you.”

Stiles grimaced. “Okay, now it isn’t fair.” He picked at his jeans. “We should come up with a way to give ourselves some privacy. You know. Up there.” He gestured at his own head like an idiot.

“This bond is supposed to be something we wanted. It isn’t as invasive as reading each other’s thoughts, it’s just…” Derek sighed. “Laura says she and Galen were practically able to tell what the other was feeling before the bond, so it wasn’t a huge change for them.” 

“Yeah, but they’re friends, and didn’t hate each other.”

Derek made a low noise that Stiles might’ve thought was acknowledgment if he couldn’t literally feel the frustration. 

“What?”

Derek sighed. “Never mind.”

Stiles’s phone began to ring. He winced. “That’s probably Scott. I should go.” 

“Alright. See you later.” 

“Yeah.” He got out with his food first, then answered the call. “Hey, Scott, what’s up?” He waved at Derek and stepped onto the sidewalk. He cringed as Scott’s tinny voice pierced his unprotected ear. He’d forgotten to put the earplug back in. “I’m right outside, dude, don’t be such a worrywart. I just went to get breakfast. Yes, I brought you some. I know you do, now sit down, I’ll be right there.” 

Scott passed out hard after devouring Stiles’s leftovers. He didn’t ask why he didn’t have any for himself. 

Stiles quietly worked on some long term projects he’d been neglecting and asked Allison where she wanted to have dinner. Even taking a nap himself only wasted about two hours, so by noon, Stiles was bored and alone. He glanced at Scott—still knocked out cold—then went to the bathroom and closed the door. 

He wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but he desperately wanted to speak to his mother. Even if he didn’t tell her about Derek, it would be nice to talk to her. 

The portal unfurled instantly, the second he so much as thought about it. He still used the mirror, because she would most definitely notice if he didn’t and because he was nervous about trying it without one yet. 

Claudia’s expression was tight and upset. “Are you alright?”

Stiles reared back. “Yes? Why?”

“I heard about the murders at your school and I-” She closed her eyes and pressed a hand over her face. 

Stiles cringed. “Sorry, Mom, I didn’t think—I mean, you always seem so calm about-”

She was nodding as he spoke, still covering her face and not quite looking at him. “I know, I know, but you’re-” She took in a shaky breath. She looked at him finally and smiled. “It’s easier to be calm and accepting of death when it isn’t my baby.” She wiped her cheek. Sucked in a breath that she didn’t need. “So you’re okay. Good.” 

“Yes, I’m fine. Sorry I didn’t call you sooner.”

“I overreacted. If you’d died, you’d have found me, I’d have felt it. I just—thought I felt…”

Stiles grimaced again. “I was doing something dangerous. I think I was close to the killer, which is probably why you felt a ripple.” 

“You were _what?!_ ” 

Stiles winced. “Don’t be mad,” he begged. He leaned forward unconsciously, wanting to reach out. “There was a fire in the dorms, and…” He filled her in on everything but the illicit familiar bond. He wanted to tell her, wanted to bubble about his familiar, about how the bond felt, what it was like, but she was already looking mildly alarmed. “It wasn’t that bad, really. It’s just…I wanted to stop it. And it’s demonic, so I…”

“Felt responsible?” She rubbed her eyes. “Stiles, there are trained professionals on the police force for that.”

“I know. I still wanted to know. And now…now I know they know who I am, and they killed someone and I _can’t_ stay out of it.”

She sighed. “I know.” She smiled wanly. “You’re so much like me most of the time that it always surprises me when you act like your father.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” She sighed again, quieter. “Does Efeni know?”

“He knows about the fire…”

“Does he know what you’ve been doing?”

“No. I didn’t think he needed to.”

“I think he does.”

“It’s like having three parents,” he grumbled.

She gave him a stern look. “And aren’t you lucky for it?”

He pursed his lips. “Yeah, okay.” He rubbed his palms against his jeans. “So, um, anyway.”

“Do you have any leads?” Claudia asked at last, looking equal parts resigned and curious.

“No, but we’re trying to find some.”

“We—you and that shifter?”

“The one who was with me, yeah.” He couldn’t just leave Derek out, especially after having to explain how he’d gotten out of the pool. “He’s helping me. We’re watching each other’s backs.”

“Hmm. Is that all you’re doing?” She smirked.

Stiles’s face got hot for no reason. “Yes, Mother, _what_ are you implying?”

“Oh, nothing.” Her gaze flicked over the air around him.

“Mom, you’re snooping.”

She grinned. “Okay, okay. Your aura is just so _bright_. Now I know why.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “You know nothing.” He cleared his throat. “But you wouldn’t happen to have any suggestions, would you?”

Glee lit up her face.

“For the investigation! Mom! Get your mind out of the gutter!”

She laughed loudly enough to make him wince, his still-sensitive ears ringing. 

 

Scott was awake and getting dressed when Stiles came out of the bathroom.

“Hey, the dead has risen. Did you sleep okay?”

“Like a rock.” He stretched his arms over his head, face twisting as he fought a yawn. “I had to stay so long because Matt didn’t show up for his shift. Dr. Medina was _pissed_ , I thought she was going to curse him. So I covered his shift and he’s probably going to get a monster lecture or a write up or something.”

“That’s shitty of him.”

Scott nodded, then grimaced halfway through. “I’m going to feel really bad if he’s hurt or dead,” he said in a low voice.

Stiles would, too, but, to make Scott feel better, he said, “That’s no excuse! We’re in a magical college, the least he could do is send a message from _beyond_.”

Scott laughed and threw balled up socks at Stiles’s head. “You aren’t funny.”

“Yes, I am.” He scooped up the socks before Lemmy could pounce. “Where are you going?”

“I was going out with Kira, since you have plans with Allison.” He tugged at his hair self-consciously, then smoothed it down. “You’re still going, right?”

“Yes, we’re still going.”

“Great!” Scott looked into his desk drawer, frowned, and pulled out his wallet. He glanced at Stiles, puzzled. “Did you see me put this in here?”

“No, dude, you were exhausted. Who knows what you did before I got here.”

Scott nodded seriously. “Have you seen my keys?”

 

Allison met Stiles at Buttons, a family owned pizza parlor and bar near campus, so-named because they collected buttons year round and made sweaters, gloves, and scarves for charity in the winter. 

“Hey! Did you order yet?”

“Yep, got you a sangria. And a pepperoni/jalapeño pizza.” 

She beamed and sat across from him. “You’re awesome.” 

“Yes, so I’ve been told.” He grinned at her, too. So far, being away from Derek and out, interacting with people, felt strange, like he’d gone out with only one shoe on. Or maybe a sock. Two shoes, one sock. He could vaguely feel Derek’s emotions, low level anxiety, restlessness, annoyance and frustration, and bet he felt the same. He hoped it wasn’t always like this.

“What’s Scott up to?”

“He’s got a date with Kira tonight.” He shuffled closer to the wall as the waitress arrived.

“Hey, there, I’ve got your drinks, I just need to see your ID, sweetie.”

Allison smiled and passed it over, asking how her night was going. 

Once they were settled with their drinks, Stiles started feeling guilty about not telling her. Scott was one thing; he would worry, and Stiles could justify not telling him because he knew he’d want to get involved to make sure Stiles didn’t get hurt. Allison, on the other hand, would probably judge him, lecture him maybe, but would offer no-nonsense, helpful advice in the end. 

“Where’d you drift off to?”

Stiles shook his head. “There’s a lot going on.”

Her teasing smile melted away. “Yeah. I’m worried about Cora and her siblings—I know it was a witch and familiar last time, but it seems like shifters have been the target.”

“I was thinking that myself.” He inhaled through his nose, forgetting himself, and winced at all the mingling scents that bombarded him. 

Allison’s eyes narrowed. “Speaking of being worried about people, I can’t believe you almost drowned and never told me!” 

“I—sorry, I-” _Forgot_ was definitely the wrong word there. 

“Your aura looks weird, you look like you haven’t been sleeping, and on top of that, you didn’t tell me you almost died. Are you _okay?_ ”

He nodded. “I’ve just been stressed about those attacks, you know? There’s demon fire involved, which means there’s-”

Understanding and sympathy lit her face. “Demons, gotcha.” She nodded. “Kate says the police will figure it out, but still…what if another student gets targeted?” She twisted her glass in her hands. 

“I saw her this morning,” Stiles said, hoping to distract her.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, she was outside my dorm.”

Allison frowned. “Really? I wonder why.”

He shrugged. “Did she—not to be rude,” he laughed awkwardly, “but did she say how long she was staying?”

She smirked. “I think you’re allowed to be a little rude, considering how she acted when you guys met.” She shrugged. “No, she’s not really saying. I think she wants to stick around until the police find who, um, who’s responsible. She was planning on staying in San Francisco for a while anyway,” she added. “I guess this is more interesting than bounty hunting.” She looked troubled. 

“I guess.”

Their pizzas arrived then and they silently decided to switch to less fraught topics: grades, parents, the Hales. Allison had noticed Stiles hanging out around Derek and wanted to know what that was about, so he had to tell her the same story he’d given Scott. While he was talking, he picked a piece of pepperoni of his pizza. Halfway to his mouth, he froze; dread crashed over him like a wave. He set the pepperoni down, eyes wheeling around the restaurant. 

“Stiles? You okay?”

“Ah…yes.” He couldn’t pinpoint where the feeling of dread was coming from, could only sense it, like eyes on the back of his neck. In his mind, he felt Derek react to his sudden fear, reaching out mentally. It felt like a bracing hand on his back, like Derek was actually there to steady him. 

‘ _Are you okay?_ ’

‘ _Yeah, fine,_ ’ he replied absently, and stiffened when he realized what they’d done. He tried to “speak” to Derek again, could tell—from the waves of frustration and curiosity—that he was trying to do the same, but couldn’t manage.

“Stiles?”

“Huh? Yeah.” He bit into his pepperoni. “Hey, do you and Cora—can you ever…talk? Over a distance?”

She lifted her brows. “Yeah. There’s these handy devices that let us talk and even send each other instant letters over great distances.”

Stiles threw a balled up napkin at her. “You’re a jerk. I meant with—like, witch to familiar.”

She put the napkin aside, looking at him like she thought he was immature. “Well, mostly I can feel her emotions, so usually we don’t even need words.” She shrugged. “Our bond is still fairly new, and it’s different for everyone. Why do you ask?”

“I was just wondering.”

“Sometimes, if one of us has a nightmare, or is feeling a really powerful emotion, we can see whatever the other one is seeing.” She squinted at him. “Why?” The question was more drawn out this time. She leaned forward, an excited flush moving over her face. “Wait, did you find someone you want to bond with?” She bounced her legs, nearly upending their drinks. “Oh my god, you did! Who is it?”

“I didn’t—I was just trying to-”

“You’re such a liar, Stilinski, whatever. Who are they? Is it that Isaac kid? Cora has _such_ a crush on him. Or, wait, what’s her name, Heather something-”

“Nope, no, it’s—it’s neither of them.” Stiles scrambled for something to say to distract her, anything.

“Wait, wait.” Her eyes gleamed. “Is it Der-”

“I’m not telling,” he said firmly. “We’re just getting a feel for each other,” he said, thinking quickly. “She’s not even sure-”

“So they’re a _woman_ ,” Allison said triumphantly. 

Stiles sighed and let her speculate wildly for the rest of the evening. Perceptive friends were kind of a pain in the ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter count should be up very soon! I'm nearly done; I will start posting on Tuesdays and Fridays once it is all done. ^^


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting another chapter because I finally FINALLY finished writing this beast. It's my longest sterek fic by far and I can't be 100% positive, but I'm pretty sure it's just my longest fic ever. I don't know how it ended up like this. o.o I thought it would be SHORT when I started it. Anyway hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think! <3

Classes started up the Monday following the funerals. Everyone was subdued, even the teachers, so it wasn’t too hard for Stiles and Derek to downplay their power level. Coach Grigorescu did eye him suspiciously when he didn’t double over and start swearing when they finished their jog, but she must’ve chalked it up to her training finally working, because she didn't call him out on it. 

Stiles was suspicious of all but maybe eleven people on campus, which he thought was being generous. For instance: Professor Eason was helping the police. There was no way she’d risk doing that if she was involved.

Unless she was throwing them off the trail. 

Terrible people didn’t always seem terrible at first. John had made sure that Stiles didn’t forget that, no matter how nice the people in holding seemed. 

Make that ten people Stiles wasn’t suspicious of. 

Runes was strange all week; Professor Blake was out for most of it, and when she returned, she seemed withdrawn and jumpy. Arlene said she’d demanded extra protection from the Heads. 

“By extra protection,” Stiles began, “what do you-”

“I mean she’s scared out of her pretty wits that she’s gonna be attacked next.” Arlene rolled her eyes. “As if a single teacher has been attacked.”

“She’s just being cautious,” Scott said, looking disappointed in them. “She probably saw something when she cast some runes.”

Arlene wrinkled her nose, like she didn’t believe that, but Professor Blake was dismissing them early and it was Friday, so she wasn’t eager to stick around to argue. “She’s just worried about herself.” She swept her bag up and shot Professor Blake a disgusted look, which Blake didn’t notice, then left. 

Professor Eason was back in class, too. She’d been out assisting the police Summoner, so they’d been watching movies all week. “No time for questions,” she announced. “We are all sorely behind. Get your mirrors and get to your desks, we’re practicing same realm portals. Move it, guys, we’re way behind. Judith, don’t,” she said kindly, when Judith Bridges tried to grab the box of mirrors.

Judith flushed pink and stepped aside for Marlena. She’d broken an entire box of glass squares at the beginning of the year, which was why they used mirrors now.

“We’re still doing same-realm portals. They’re tough, so I want you practicing a little bit out of class, too.”

Marlena tapped the top of Stiles’s head with one of the mirrors, then handed it over, smirking.

He studied it while everyone was getting settled. It wasn’t very big, just wide enough to see through, probably. Last time he’d practiced this, he’d struggled to get the wards to light up. 

As soon as Eason, “Okay, start,” the portal spiraled open, shocking him. 

“Shit, shit,” he breathed. He tried to close it, but it yawned wider, filling the mirror and trying to stretch beyond before instinct kicked in and wards held it in place. He could see his room, could see Lemmy lounging on his desk in a patch of sun. He bet if he reached through, he could pet him.

A sharp inhale made him go tense. 

He tried to tilt the mirror away, but it was too late. 

“Whoa, Stiles, how’d you _do_ that?” Marlena gasped, leaning over his shoulder. 

Emory noticed, too, and leaned back. “Cool!”

“Um, it’s probably a fluke,” he said weakly. 

Professor Eason came to investigate, and blinked in surprise. “Your first try today? I’m impressed.” She didn’t sound impressed; she sounded suspicious. 

“I—practiced. All last week. I totally neglected the rest of my homework, too, but you know how it is, I get hyper-focused on one project and just can’t let go. I practiced with my roommate, helping me, I mean, and I’ve never actually _opened_ the portal, this is the –”

“Okay, Stilinski,” Marlena interjected. “You can stop bragging now, we get it.”

In the back of his mind, he could sense Derek’s concern, which was probably caused by Stiles’s rising panic. It hadn’t even been a full week of classes yet and he was already going to blow it. 

Professor Eason was still looking at him strangely, like she didn’t believe a single bit of his crap. “Alright, everyone, let’s get back to work,” she said at last. She gave Stiles another searching look, then walked away.

Stiles closed the portal and decided not to try again. He could convince his classmates it was a fluke and then no one would be looking too closely.

Marlena managed to open a tiny portal to her dorm room near the middle of class; it was just a quarter-sized window left of center in her mirror, but she was thrilled. 

So was Stiles, both because he was her friend and because it took the attention off of him. Win-win. 

“That was awesome!” She beamed at Gus, then dropped her gaze back to her mirror. “I’m going to do it again.” She flexed her jaw, eyes narrowing at the mirror. 

Tessa shouted, “Ha!” a minute later. “Did it!” 

“Great job, Tessa! You’re all doing great. Don’t feel discouraged if you didn’t manage it,” Professor Eason added. “It’s difficult, and will take more practice. And we’re also out of time today. Let’s get the mirrors boxed up. Inez, could you take Stiles’s mirror, please?” Eason shot him a look that invited no arguments. “Stiles, I’d like a word.”

He did not want to know what that word was. He went with her to her desk anyway. “Prof-”

“What’s going on, Stiles?” She sat against the edge of her desk and looked at him expectantly. 

“With what, ma’am?”

“Your classmates were only able to open partial portals.” 

“I told you, I’ve been practicing.” His nose itched, but he resisted the urge to scratch it. “I didn’t even know I could do it yet.” 

Her expression was mingled irritation and weariness, obviously done with being lied to by students. Her aura was dim and tinged muted green with suspicion. “Stiles, you-” She sighed, her face softening, her aura warming to her usual accepting brown. “You are a difficult student.” 

He looked down. “So I’ve heard.” 

“Try not to get hurt. In general,” she said, exasperated, when he tried to protest that he wasn’t doing anything dangerous. 

“I won’t. I’m not. Just practicing.”

She rolled her eyes.

Stiles wished he could say that was the first time an educator had rolled their eyes at him.

“Sure. While you’re _practicing_ , don’t forget to take breaks, or you’ll trigger blowback.” 

“Can that happen? Even with your affinity?”

“Yes. So be careful.” She held his gaze for a moment, then looked over his shoulder and sighed. “I suppose you’re dismissed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He tried not to audibly gulp. “Tomorrow?”

“The Heads have reinstated the first and second year mixers,” she said slowly.

“I know. I got the email.”

“I’m chaperoning tomorrow night. So be on your best behavior.” She grinned. 

Stiles snorted. 

She smirked. “Or try not to wreak havoc, at least.”

“I’ll try.”

“Go on, your roommate has been hovering outside the door since I called you up here.” She waved; Stiles turned. 

Scott was hovering just outside the door, his expression earnest. He waved back at Professor Eason. 

Stiles shook his head. “Thanks. See you tomorrow.” He went to grab his things, which he’d forgotten at his desk, then jogged over to Scott. “What’s up?”

“You work tonight, right?” The earnest expression hadn’t faded.

“Yes…”

“I think I’ll come hang out for a little while,” he said casually. “Get some studying in.”

“You aren’t subtle.” Stiles pushed his sleeves up as they walked away from the classroom.

“People should stay in groups,” Scott said. “Especially you, since the killer already tried to kill you.”

“He didn’t try very hard,” Stiles grumbled. “He just-”

“Almost drowned you.” He took a deep breath. “So, Allison and Cora are joining us. We’re going to have a study group at the library while you work.”

“Uh-huh. For how long?”

“You know. A little while.” He avoided Stiles’s gaze. “You should invite Marlena.” 

“No one is going to stay my whole shift.” 

“Of course not.”

Stiles squinted at him, so he smiled. He couldn’t see any reason to object, since he’d said they weren’t staying the whole time he was working. “Fine.”

“Great! Hey, I see Marlena. I’ll go invite her. See you at the library!”

“Wait—I should invite her, don’t you–”

“No, I’ve got it, it’s fine. See you!”

“Aren’t we getting dinner together?”

“No time, sorry, see you later!” 

Stiles shook his head, baffled. “So much for staying in groups.”

Marlena noticed Scott running toward her and stopped; her girlfriend, Chelsea, was with her. She looked over at Stiles, brows lifted.

He shook his head. “No, I have no idea, I have no control over his weirdness,” he muttered. He jerked his shoulders, mouthed, “Good luck!” and went to the cafeteria. 

Derek spotted him in line to pay and waited, holding his own dinner. He looked uncomfortable as people turned to look, trying to see why he was just standing there. He glowered and squared his shoulders. 

“Hey.” Stiles grinned at him. “What’s up?”

“What happened?”

“With what?”

He rolled his eyes. It was a side effect of long term Stilinski exposure. “Earlier. You were nervous.”

“Derek, fifty percent of my personality is nervous. You’ll have to get used to it.” 

He scoffed. 

Stiles shrugged and stepped around him. 

The cafeteria had been good practice for Stiles over the course of the week. He’d gotten overwhelmed and had to go outside from Monday through Wednesday, but he stayed all of lunch and dinner Thursday. Lunch had gone well earlier, too, so Stiles was feeling pretty confident. 

Derek followed him to an empty two-top near the back. 

“Once again, we are being subtle. So subtle.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Yes, because eating in the campus cafeteria together is a huge warning sign for non-sanctioned-”

“Shh!” Stiles glared at him. “Look, I get it, that won’t be people’s _first_ assumption, but we still don’t want anyone paying very close attention, alright?”

“Fine. Do you want me to sit somewhere else?” His face was pretty blank, but he was wary, tense, and a little insulted.

“No, it would be weird now. You’ll help me with some homework.” Stiles set his food down and took out a notebook. 

“Sure.” Derek rolled his eyes and sat down at the far side of the table. “Later, I want to practice that freezing spell you did, the one we just studied in gen spells.”

“ _Fixus_? _Concesso_?” He popped open his salad container, figuring he’d might as well eat that first, then enjoy the rest of his dinner.

“The second one. _Concesso._ ” 

Stiles grabbed his fork, but found he couldn’t lift it. He looked up at Derek, exasperated. 

“What?”

He pulled on his fork again. “Don’t use magic when you’re saying the spells,” he hissed. He looked at the fork speculatively; he waved his fingers over it. It unfroze. “Huh. That makes things easier.” 

“I didn’t put magic behind it,” he muttered. “I don’t-”

“Stay calm,” Stiles reminded him. “Freaking out only makes our magic even more volatile, and leads to holes in your pants.”

“ _What?_ ”

“What? Oh, god, not like that.” Stiles waggled his fingers and took a bite of his salad.

“It didn’t feel like I was using any magic. How am I supposed to make sure I don’t use it if I can’t tell whether I am or not?”

Stiles looked around; no one was paying them any attention. “Do a spell. But slowly.” He breathed in. “For me, magic feels like…like breaking the surface when you’re swimming. Like a good, clean breath after a while without.” He flexed his fingers. “I’m not sure how it feels to you, because the sensation, whatever it is, will be subtle the smaller the spell is.”

“So I have to do something big to be able to really feel it.” Derek’s voice was flat.

Stiles winced. “I guess? So you know what to feel for at a smaller scale.”

“And what do you suggest I do?”

Stiles sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I work tonight-”

“So I’ll come to the library and we can practice in there.” 

He shook his head. “Scott’s got it in his head that I shouldn’t be alone my whole shift, so he set up a study party. You can come, but we can’t practice until they’re gone.” He tipped his head when he felt Derek’s pleased surprise. “What?” He started smiling involuntarily. 

“Nothing. Thanks. I’ll come.” 

“Good. And we can probably practice Saturday before the mixer.”

Derek nodded. He didn’t seem too worried anymore; maybe he’d been concerned Stiles was trying to blow him off or something.

Which would be ridiculous. They were now equally responsible, so it was in Stiles’s best interests to help Derek learn to control their magic. 

Stiles suspected that Derek hadn’t been completely honest when he’d claimed to trust Stiles. 

Scott, Marlena, and Chelsea showed up three hours into Stiles’s shift, carting books and contraband popcorn. 

“No, no way. You’re going to make a mess!” 

“We aren’t, promise!”

“It’s literally posted everywhere that there’s no food allowed.” Stiles crossed his arms. “I’m not getting in trouble because you guys want popcorn. Go eat it outside.”

Marlena pouted at him. “We brought a tablecloth!” She dug a plastic table cover out of her purse and waved it at him. 

“That’s –” ridiculous, outrageous, “—still not allowed!”

Scott said, “Guys, we can eat popcorn after we have our study session.” He sounded like a stern, somewhat disappointed parent. 

Marlena rolled her eyes. “It’s just popcorn.” 

“You’ll live, Lena,” Chelsea said, elbowing her lightly. She winked at Stiles. “She eats more than any witch I’ve ever _met_ ; my mom is going to _love_ you.” She pulled her chestnut hair back, tying it deftly with a band she’d had around her wrist.

“Is that so?” Her eyes narrowed. 

“Psh, yeah. Shifters eat a lot. And my mom loves feeding people. Asking for seconds in my house is the best way to ensure Mom basically adopts you.”

“What is your shift?” Stiles asked. He hadn’t met Chelsea before, really, had just passed her in the hallway a few times and waved at her when he was talking to Marlena. He could tell by her aura that she was something canine, but not exactly what.

“We are golden jackals mostly.” She bared her teeth in a sharp smile. “Couldn’t you tell?”

“Ah…what do you mean?”

She hummed and shrugged. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with a wolf shifter. I thought you’d be able to differentiate our auras by now.” 

“Oh.” Stiles laughed nervously. “No, not yet.”

“Hmm.” She turned to Marlena. “Popcorn later, gen spells now.”

Scott gave Stiles a thumbs up and marched to a nearby table. 

“Where are Allison and Cora?”

“They’ll be here,” Scott replied without turning around.

Derek showed up when Marlena and Chelsea were packing up to leave. “Laura wanted to go get ice cream,” he said sheepishly. He glanced at Marlena putting her things in her bag. “Am I too late?”

Chelsea grinned at him and waggled her eyebrows suggestively; Stiles realized they knew each other a second later when amusement zipped through him, as if there was some private joke they shared. 

“No-”

“Not at all!” Scott said cheerfully. “Allison and Cora are going to be here in a half hour.”

“You—did you organize _shifts_?” Stiles sputtered. 

“Not really.” Scott smiled. “Marlena and Chelsea have plans, and Allison and Cora couldn’t make it at that time.”

“So you’re leaving when Allison and Cora leave?”

He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to look hurt. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Are you trying to avoid the question?”

“I’ll leave when they leave,” Scott relented. He glanced at Derek speculatively. “But you shouldn’t really walk back alone…”

“I can drive him home,” Derek offered without being asked.

Stiles glowered at him while Scott turned to beam at him like the sun favoring one specific flower. 

“Perfect! This way no one is walking alone, and really, that’s the safest way.” He turned to Derek and grinned again. “That presentation you did on using sigils for property management instead of outright spells was pretty interesting, where’d you get the idea?”

They talked about that and Scott’s Sigils presentation until Allison and Cora arrived. 

Stiles largely ignored them, annoyed that his friends had set up shifts—and they were shifts, he didn’t care what Scott said—to babysit him. Nothing had even happened to him. Nothing pointed to him being a potential target, either: all the victims had been shifters or familiar pairs. As far as they knew, Stiles wasn’t either of those things. 

He heard raised voices while he was checking in returns and glanced over involuntarily. 

Derek and Cora were arguing about intuition potions. Loudly. “I just think if you need an intuition potion, you’re already screwed.”

“Not if you prepare it beforehand,” Cora shot back. A grin was playing around her mouth, and through the bond, Stiles could _tell_ Derek was having fun, too, and feeling affectionate. “You could use it before meeting with people, or going to job interviews.”

“And people would abuse it and use it before sports matches or chess tournaments, and that isn’t fair.”

Allison rolled her eyes and wandered over to the desk. “Anything interesting?”

“Kind of. One person checked out four books on Anita Dare.” He held up the stack. “Report or obsession? The world may never know.”

“Actually…” Allison grabbed the top book and flipped through; it fell open to a bookmarked page. It was just pictures of the famous witch, along with small descriptions under each picture. “Case solved. Obsession.”

Stiles snickered.

“Wrong, the _iomas_ potion is made with thunder savory, _not_ hazel grass,” Cora crowed, waving a book over her head. 

“Are the Hales all like that?” Stiles asked dryly. 

Allison nodded. “I actually just thought Cora was _that_ argumentative on her own, but…nope. The whole family does it. It’s just how they show affection. They’re having a blast,” she added. “They like arguing, I guess. You should see their parents. They have full on debates over dinner about _everything_ —potions, spells, shifting technique, airlines. But they never seem angry, so it isn’t awkward.”

“Oh, wow.” Stiles looked over at them again.

Scott looked bored but was apparently trapped by manners; Derek was happier than Stiles had ever seen him, and Cora was getting competitive. 

 

The ride back to the dorm, at three in the morning, was surprisingly not awkward. 

“I’d say let’s practice now,” Stiles yawned, “but Scott is probably sleeping with one eye open to make sure I get home.”

“That’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow. We can practice then.”

“True. Hey, thanks for sticking around. I think Scott has officially stopped thinking you’re going to brutally murder me.”

“He thought that?”

“Probably. But he went home when Allison and Cora did, which means he doesn’t anymore! Yay.”

Derek flicked him an unimpressed look. “Right. Yay,” he said flatly. 

Stiles snorted and knocked their elbows together. “So I hear you don’t trust intuition potions,” he said, just to be a shit. 

They argued in the car for about twenty minutes _after_ they got to Stiles’s dorm. When Derek left, grinning, Stiles couldn’t help grinning, too. He had no reason to, but he still felt like he was making…progress, or something. Derek hated him less, and honestly, he didn’t despise the guy so much himself. They might actually survive being bonded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if there are typos or anything I will try to get to them later; i'm way too tired to catch them now lol


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just finished this fic...Saturday? I think? And then I wrote Daughter of the Deputy. And now I've started working on another long fic. Because producing until you collapse is the American way! :D I dunno why I do the thing, one day my brain is going to crawl out of my ear and hide just to get a break.

Professor Blake was helping to chaperone the mixer, as well as Coach Grigorescu and Professor Eason. Stiles couldn’t see why anyone would assign Blake to chaperoning; she looked like a shout would send her into a dead faint. Thankfully, Eason and Coach Grigorescu more than made up for it.

As soon as they got there, Scott went off with Kira, which actually worked out for Stiles. Now he wouldn’t have to explain to Scott why he was only talking to Derek. 

“If we use a pink halite crystal, bathe it in an intuition potion, and use sigils, it’ll work. I don’t think a spell alone will cut it. They aren’t specific enough.” 

“Crystals already have their own magic,” Derek countered. “Infusing even more into it would be risky.” They were at a small table away from their usual group, with a plate of mixed snacks between them, and a beer each.

“That’s why we use one that’s already sort of doing what we want.” Stiles broke a pretzel in half. “A pink halite would probably work. Intuition potion would focus it, sigils would power it. A detection spell would help, too. Detecting _only_ demonic portals is asking a lot from just a spell or just a crystal,” he added under his breath. No one was paying them any attention, too busy with their own conversations, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious.

“Which detection spell? I think _profero_ would probably backfire, should it take that literally, but _reperio_ isn’t really that specific.”

Before he could answer, Matt Daehler leaned over the table. “What the _fuck_ are you two doing?” He sounded forcefully chipper, like he was trying to act casual, just making friendly conversation. 

“Talking,” Derek said flatly. He sat back and crossed his arms, glaring at him. 

“We’re comparing detection spells,” Stiles put in. Being a smart ass never got Matt to leave, and right now, he cared more about getting rid of him than getting a shot in.

Matt’s face screwed up. “What does he care?” He jerked his thumb at Derek.

Stiles’s neck prickled with unease. “We’re having a conversation. I asked his opinion.” 

Matt shrugged. “Shifters shouldn’t worry about magic. They’re only here to give us a boost, you know?” He slid a conspiratorial smirk toward Stiles, like he was going to agree with him. 

“No. I don’t.” Stiles wasn’t sure who was angrier: him or Derek. “This isn’t the 1690s anymore, Matt. Get lost.” 

Matt’s eyes narrowed. “I was just sharing my opinion.” 

“Yeah, we didn’t ask for it.”

A plume of violet smoke rose from the table beside theirs, flowing over until it obscured Matt’s face. He swore furiously and stepped back. 

Lydia waved at him; beside her, Jackson smirked like he was daring Matt to say something.

“Fuck off,” he muttered, stomping away. 

“Thanks.”

Lydia shrugged. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was only practicing some equations.” 

“Oh, right. Of course. Good luck with that.” Stiles looked back at Derek. “I forgot what we were talking about.”

“We were-”

Stiles glared at him.

“Oh.” He sighed noisily. “Me too, I guess,” he mumbled. 

Stiles patted his arm. “I like your suggestion. When we make that recipe, we’ll add it.” 

Derek snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

Stiles kicked him under the table.

He kicked back.

Stiles trapped his ankle between his calves and grinned. “Now that I have your attention…”

“You never lost it,” Derek grumbled, trying to yank his foot free.

Stiles smirked. Shifter strength was a pretty good perk to the bond. “So tomorrow, we can meet up to study.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed. “Alright…” 

“We’ll go to a park or a hiking trail or something.”

“Uh-huh.”

Stiles was going to make another joke, but Chelsea bumped up against the table then. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yep. Mmhm.” Her eyes gleamed. 

Marlena popped up behind her. “Stiles, my buddy, my pal, my best friend in the whole-”

“Where are you going?” he sighed.

“Somewhere _else_. Please just cover for us if any of the chaperones ask. _Please?_ ”

He rolled his eyes, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Yeah, fine.” He squinted at them. “Are you guys going to do pre-bonding this winter?”

“Ugh, no, it’s way too complicated,” Chelsea said. She winced and tipped her head at Marlena. “No offense.”

“None taken,” she chirped. “We’ve already talked about it. Dating your familiar just adds pressure to a sort of complicated relationship, I think. Best to keep them separate. But to each their own, of course.” She winked, then said, “Thanks, guys, I owe you,” and bolted before Stiles could ask why she was winking.

Derek leaned back in his seat. 

Stiles released his foot. “Um, anyway.” He cleared his throat. “I think we should be good for tomorrow. We’ll practice that big spell, and we can do the finishing touches on that, um, recipe.” 

Derek nodded. “Good. Okay.”

Stiles turned his head when someone said his name. 

Professors Blake and Eason were talking near the bar; Blake was telling Eason something about rune casting, and her readings. Eason was nodding, but her face was blank, uninterested.

“Blake is saying Eason should keep an eye on you, since you’re…” Derek faltered. His lips pressed together.

“Since I’m what?”

“Since you’ve been spending a lot of time with me lately, and since you’d been acting strange, lashing out at your friends. She just used Matt Daehler as an example.” 

Stiles heard Eason laugh. “Matt isn’t my friend,” he said, baffled. 

“Professor Eason just told her that since there are so few Summoner students, she knows most of you, and she’s never noticed you hanging out with Daehler.”

“How can you _hear_ that? All I can hear is everyone else!”

“You just need more practice.” Derek turned his head slightly. “Blake is telling her she’s _worried_ about you, but Coach G just interrupted.”

Stiles looked. 

Grigorescu was gesticulating and telling Blake a very involved story about what some sixth years had done in her class.

Eason slipped away while she was distracted, smirking. 

“Do you need a ride tonight?” Derek asked. 

“What? Oh, no thanks.” Stiles laughed a little. “My dorm is across the street, that’s why I even got this.” He tapped his beer. 

Derek blinked. “Oh, right.” 

“Maybe you shouldn’t drive back,” Stiles said. He was only teasing.

Derek hadn’t even sipped from his beer; he was just distracted. Probably.

“Can you feel drunk when I’m getting buzzed?” Stiles shook his bottle and found it was only half empty. “Never mind.” 

“I doubt I can be intoxicated by proxy.” He grinned. “We’ll test it sometime, though.” 

“Ha! Yeah, I’ll just get smashed and you’ll keep notes. ‘Stiles now has drool on his chin, four drinks in, and keeps singing “Greased Lightning” with the wrong lyrics’.” 

Derek snorted. “Why ‘Greased Lightning’?”

“Honestly, it’s the only song I could think of on the spot.”

Derek laughed outright. 

It was a gratifying sound, mostly because Stiles had only heard it a few times. 

 

Derek and Kira walked Stiles and Scott back to their dorm after the mixer. They both claimed it was just so no one was walking alone, though they didn't have an answer when Stiles pointed out that he and Scott were walking together and wouldn’t have been alone anyway. 

“Wait.” Stiles grabbed Derek’s arm. “Let’s just…let them say bye alone, first.” 

Derek grimaced, but let Scott and Kira head upstairs on their own. “What, uh—do you have somewhere in mind for studying tomorrow?”

Upstairs, Stiles heard the wet sound of Scott and Kira kissing and shuddered, horrified. “Ugh. Um, no. We can pick a place in the morning or—whatever. You know. Away from here.”

“Sounds good.” He nodded, and winced when Kira let out a breathy sound.

“Okay, have a goodnight, Derek,” Stiles said loudly. He stomped onto the first step.

“You too.” Derek was just as loud. “Watch your step!”

“Thanks!” He stomped up one more. “Will do!” 

“Shoot. Goodnight,” Scott whispered, followed by a quiet smack.

Stiles was going to be traumatized forever. 

Kira hustled by a second later, pink cheeked. “Night, Stiles,” she said, sounding mortified.

Scott looked blissful when Stiles got there. Somehow, that was worse than anything else he could’ve been doing.

“Ugh. Go put your glowing face to bed. Or a cold shower. Or something.” Stiles kicked his shoes toward his own bed, trying not to look at Scott directly. 

“Oh, like you weren’t doing the same thing with Derek.”

Stiles froze, half bent over from trying to stop Lemmy from attacking his shoelaces. “ _What_?”

Scott hesitated. “Isn’t that why you guys stayed downstairs?”

“No! God, Scott! No. We were giving _you two_ some privacy. What made you think that?” he demanded. 

“I don’t know, you guys talked all night, and you’ve been spending a lot of time together. Cora said Derek even skipped their weekly dinner, so I figured…”

Stiles felt claws prick his palms. “You figured wrong. We’re friends. We finally stopped fighting over everything, that’s all.” 

Scott shrugged. “Okay. That’s great, too!”

It was great. And fine. And normal. Stiles contemplated how great it was the whole time he was getting ready for bed. 

 

Stiles couldn’t sleep. Scott had passed out less than an hour after he got into bed. Stiles had to resist the urge to throw a pillow at him, or beat him with a pair of socks. He had been tossing and turning the whole time. At three, he gave in. He sat up, throwing the blankets back. 

Lemmy glared at him. 

“Shut up,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. “It’s not my fault.” He shuffled to the mini fridge by his desk, grabbing a water. He drank half of it, then pressed it to his cheek. There was no reason for him to even be awake. 

Lemmy wound through his ankles, purring until he bent and picked him up. He pressed his face into the side of Stiles’s neck.

“Yeah, yeah. You want attention now, sure.” Stiles walked back toward his bed, stroking Lemmy’s back like he was carrying a baby. 

Lemmy squirmed out of his arms and jumped onto Scott’s desk. 

Scott grumbled in his sleep, turning over. 

Stiles only pulled on jeans and some sneakers, but it seemed to take forever. He paused after each leg to make sure Scott hadn’t woken.

Lemmy let out a weird little growl from his perch on Scott’s desk.

“Shh. Here.” Stiles pulled a treat out for him, wincing as the bag crinkled. He set the treat in front of Lemmy and stroked his ears. “I’ll be back soon. I just need some air.” 

Lemmy didn’t even look at the treat.

“You’re a bit too observant for my taste,” Stiles muttered. “I told Scott we should’ve gotten a dog.”

He batted at Stiles’s arm without claws then, growling once more, he turned his attention to his treat. 

Stiles left while he was occupied.

The temperature had dropped since they’d walked home; it was nothing a light hoodie couldn’t handle. Stiles hadn’t brought anything but the t-shirt he’d worn to bed. He put his hands in his jeans pockets and sighed. He didn’t know why he was so restless. After a full week of subterfuge, he should’ve been exhausted. He rubbed his face. 

The sidewalks were deserted; people no doubt had more important things to do on a Saturday night than walk around campus. Most of the street lamps were set low, giving just enough light to see by as it crept toward dawn. He felt restless and irritable, which he blamed squarely on Scott. He didn't think that was unfair. Scott was the one assuming things he shouldn't have been assuming. 

It was a good thing that he and Derek were friends now. He knew that. He had no reason to be so bothered by Scott's assumption. He knew that, too. He stuck his hands in his pockets and kept walking. 

The air smelled strange, making his skin crawl, but it was such a faint scent that he couldn't quite identify it. 

He shook it off. What he needed to do was stop worrying about what Scott had said and what people would think—and so what if they assumed he and Derek were dating? That would put them on the exact _wrong_ trail, leading them away from what they were really doing. That was a good thing. 

Something like copper tickled his nose and the back of his throat. He grimaced and wiped under his nostrils. 

Ahead by several yards, he could see someone standing stock still, turned toward the grass. They were so still he wondered if it was a statue, but he couldn’t imagine how a statue had gotten there. The breeze carried more copper scent toward him. His heart lurched when he realized it was blood, and it wasn’t coming from him.

He sprinted forward, nearly knocking into the woman standing there. “Lydia? What…” He stepped back.

Lydia was holding her phone, her face ice white, but frozen, caught in a spell.

Stiles followed her terrified gaze to the grass. He leaped back with a strangled oath. 

The grass was soaked with blood. 

He lifted a trembling hand and waved it at Lydia; the immobilizing spell broke.

She stumbled slightly. “Wh-Stiles?”

“Call 911,” he ordered. He turned away, struggling to keep his dinner down. He saw wide, filmed over eyes in his head and bent over his knees, gagging.

Behind him, Lydia spoke in a clear, firm voice to the 911 dispatcher. She gave their location nearly to the exact spot they were standing; her voice never wavered.

Stiles curled over his knees trying to catch his breath. He didn’t think he could stomach turning to look again. 

Someone had been torn apart, burned and ripped at until blood turned the grass and dirt to mud.

 

Derek showed up while Stiles was giving his statement to the police. He’d felt Stiles’s blinding panic and careened out of sleep like a startled cat. Stiles almost felt bad, except he didn’t really feel much of anything.

Lydia was giving her much longer statement a few feet away. “I didn’t see their face,” she snapped. “Just the white robes, as they were bent over her.” She swallowed audibly, but she didn’t turn away.

“Did the robes have any blood spatter, Miss Martin?”

“No.”

The officers shared a look.

“Was anyone here besides Miss Martin when you arrived, Mr. Stilinski?”

He shook his head. “She was immobilized. Someone used magic on her. I don’t, um, I don’t know how long she was here before I got here.”

They’d already gone over the usual questions of why he was out, taking a walk before dawn, and if he’d seen anything.

“Can we help you?” The officer talking to Stiles turned to Derek.

There were people, officials, most likely, prodding at the body, people who had uniforms and gloves and cameras. Stiles watched, frozen, as they turned the head— _her_ head.

Her throat had been slashed open, her chest clawed to pieces, but Stiles recognized her, the spill of blood-stiffened chestnut hair. He just…couldn’t figure out why—why she was out here, why she was alone-

Was she alone?

Against his better judgment, Stiles’s gaze skipped around, searching the darkened yard. He hoped he wouldn’t—wouldn’t see another-

He jumped when fingers threaded through his.

Derek squeezed his hand. “They said you can go home now.”

“D-Derek, that’s Chel-Chelsea.” 

“You know the victim?” one of the officers snapped.

“She’s anoth-ther student.” Stiles was shivering. He didn’t know why. “Chelsea Johnson.”

“Can I take them home now?” Derek asked loudly. 

Lydia had her arms crossed, like she was completely unaffected, but her face was still paper white and she was trembling, too.

“We may have more questions to ask them,” Officer Petty said.

“Then you know where to find them.” Derek rolled his eyes; the officers both tensed, faces going hard with anger. “There are also security cameras on the light posts,” he said slowly. “Which I think will be able to answer most of your questions, officers.” His voice sounded perfectly polite, but his brows were arched, head tilted in a way that clearly questioned their intelligence.

“And where can we access this footage?”

“The security building,” Derek said promptly. “It’s by the main office.”

“Fine. Ma’am, are you okay with him taking you home?”

“Yes,” Lydia replied sternly.

“Alright. Go ahead.”

Derek shuffled them to his car; he put Lydia up front.

Stiles curled up in the backseat. He kept seeing blood all over the grass, the sidewalk… The parted skin of Chelsea’s throat…

_Chelsea…_

He curled tighter, squeezing his eyes shut. Marlena. Was she alive? Did she notice Chelsea had left? His eyes snapped open. What if Marlena went out looking for her? What if she—what if the killer got her while she was looking for Chelsea? He fumbled his phone out of his pocket. 

“Stiles, don’t.” Derek’s voice was quiet and sad, like he somehow knew what he was trying to do.

“Don’t _what_? I have to—I have to make sure Marlena doesn’t go looking for her, have to make sure she isn’t…isn’t…” He hiccupped as he tried to hold it together; it wasn’t until he heard Lydia let out a tiny sniffle that he just let go.

By the time they’d dropped Lydia off—Derek walked her to her door—Stiles’s head was pounding and he felt wrung out. He allowed Derek to gently shuffle him to the front seat, allowed him to buckle him in, but only because doing it himself seemed impossible. 

Between one blink and the next, they were at Stiles’s dorm. “You don’t have to walk me up,” he mumbled.

“Shut up.” His tone was just harsh enough to break through the frost covering Stiles’s brain. He bundled him out of the car and into the building.

“What if Marlena goes to look for Chelsea?” he croaked.

“You gave the police her number, Stiles. They’ll handle it.”

“Did I?”

“Yes. They’ll let her know. You need to sleep some.” He helped him navigate the stairs when it turned out he felt too numb to do it. “Is Scott in there?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have your keys?”

“Yes.” He reached for his pocket, but his fingers kept fumbling; he couldn’t get a grip on them.

Derek pulled his hand away and, using only two fingers, grabbed the keys. 

The room was dark; Scott was still asleep.

“Take your shoes off,” Derek ordered. 

Stiles slumped onto the edge of his bed. He bent forward and pried them off.

Lemmy crept into his lap.

“Lay down.”

Stiles shook his head.

“Stiles, you should sleep. Come on.” Derek pulled the blankets back and nudged until Stiles gave up and scooted back.

Lemmy went with him, climbing onto the pillow and curling around Stiles’s head.

Derek tucked the blanket around his shoulders. 

“Are you going?” Stiles asked.

“No. Go to sleep.” He sank to the floor beside the bed, leaning his back against it. 

Stiles reached out, just enough to brush his fingertips against Derek’s shoulder. He closed his eyes and hoped to drop off quickly. Being awake was too much.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, it's Friday and I almost forgot to post this before I went to work! D: Hope you enjoy, next post on Tuesday.

When Stiles woke up, Lemmy was curled up on his chest, and Derek wasn’t next to the bed anymore. Stiles turned his head, his heart speeding up. 

Derek and Scott were at Scott’s desk, talking quietly and sipping coffee. The window was partially covered with a pinned-up blanket, leaving the room darker than it would’ve been with just the blinds.

At a break in the conversation, Derek looked over. “How’d you sleep?”

Stiles dropped his gaze. “Fine,” he muttered. He gently shifted Lemmy off of him and sat up. “What time is it?”

“Three,” Scott replied apologetically. “We thought we should let you sleep.”

“Oh.” 

“The police reviewed the security tapes,” Derek said. 

Scott looked at him sharply, but Stiles nodded for him to go on. He wanted to know.

“The person had their face covered. Their robe didn't get bloody because they were not technically the one physically attacking her. They said it may have been a spell, or an entity they couldn’t see.”

Stiles pressed his knuckles to his forehead. 

Scott got up and sat beside him on the bed. He held out a water bottle. “Here, drink something.” He pressed their knees together. “Um, they told Marlena.”

Stiles set the bottle against his leg. “Oh? Is she…”

“She didn’t take it well, obviously. Her dad is coming to take her home for a little while, until after the funeral at least.” He nudged him. “Drink.” 

He drank. The more he woke up, the more he was able to tell what Derek was feeling: he was scared and worried, tired. There was an edge of pain and sadness, too. Stiles realized abruptly how selfish he'd been, losing it like that. Derek had known Chelsea better than him, had clearly been friends with her, and Stiles was the one here falling apart. 

But he'd _found_ her, he'd seen...far too much. More than enough for him to be glad he hadn't decided to follow his father's footsteps and go into law enforcement. 

Scott was doing that thing where he would grind his teeth, remember he wasn’t supposed to do that, and would started chewing on his tongue, only to repeat the cycle two minutes later.

“Derek and I were going to go study,” Stiles said. He took another sip of water.

“Stiles, I don’t think that’s a good-”

“I need to get off campus for a little while, Scott,” he murmured. “I can’t just sit here.” 

Scott held a hand up. “Okay. Where are you going?”

“A little north of the city,” Derek replied. “To a park; I figured some fresh air wouldn’t hurt.”

He nodded. “What’re you studying?”

“Crystals.” Stiles found his phone tucked under the sheet. It had twenty percent battery left and four missed calls from his father. He rubbed his face. 

“I kept him updated after those calls,” Scott said quietly. 

“I need to call him back.”

“Okay. Um—hey, Derek, let’s go get some snacks. You and Stiles can have a picnic while you’re studying.” Scott stood.

Stiles felt bad. “Did you, um, want to come with us?”

Scott paused.

Derek looked over sharply.

Stiles shrugged. 

“Oh, no, I’m gonna stay here. I’m meeting with Kira and we’re just—going to stay here. Just in case.” 

Stiles waited until he couldn’t hear them any longer to call his father. 

“ _You have sixty seconds to convince me not to come down there._ ” 

“I’m fine, Dad.”

“ _Stiles, you’ve been questioned three times. You have been two steps removed from_ three _murders!_ ” 

Stiles swallowed. “I don’t-”

“ _Scott told me you were attacked, and then today you found a body while you were going out on a_ walk _at three in the morning by yourself. What were you thinking? You know how this works, and being even a partial witness can make you a target! You can’t go out alone when the perpetrator knows who you are and what you look like-_ ”

“Dad!” Stiles curled his knees in, fighting tears and struggling to breathe. “I can’t—I wasn’t trying to—I found a friend _dead_.”

John was quiet. Softly, he said, “ _Okay. I’m coming up there. I want to be on hand if anything else happens, and I’m going to help out the police department there._ ”

“Dad, you’re the county sheriff. You can’t just leave.” Stiles wiped his nose on the inside of his shirt, trying to keep his voice level. “I’m fine. Don’t put your position in jeopardy over this. The police here are doing everything they can, everything _you_ would be doing if you were here.” 

“ _You were hurt, Stiles. What if next time-_ ”

“There won’t be a next time,” he said as firmly as he could. “I’m not going anywhere alone again, and besides that, the killer…they have a pattern.” 

“ _Oh?_ ”

“I mean, it seems like a pattern to me, you know,” he stammered. 

“ _Tell me._ ” 

Stiles took a breath. “I think they’re targeting shifters, mostly.” 

“ _Why?_ ” John’s voice had taken on a firm, authoritative tone, like he was getting info from a rookie.

Stiles told him everything from the demi-demon attack to Chelsea. “And Derek and I thought—since it’s been shifters since the beginning-”

“ _Derek and you?_ ”

Stiles winced. “Yeah.” He scratched his nose. “You remember me talking about Derek.”

“ _Was that the kid you argued with all last year? The one you said was trying to get you to rearrange your classes?_ ”

Stiles winced again. “Uh, yeah. Only it turns out he’s just naturally argumentative and I jump to conclusions, who knew. We’re friends now,” he added.

“ _Hmm._ ” 

“Anyway,” Stiles said hastily, because both of his parents, dead and alive, were way too observant, “we noticed all of the attacks have had shifters in common. Also.” He cleared his throat. “I think the killer is using a demon to do this.”

“ _Oh?_ ” 

“By way of binding.”

“ _Oh. Shit._ ” 

Stiles’s brows went up. “My thoughts exactly.” He felt better, actually, talking about it with his dad. Like this, it felt less personal, like they were talking through hypotheticals over dinner the way they used to. 

“ _Then I definitely need to come down. I don’t think you need a reminder of how dangerous demons can be, especially under the control of a murderer._ ” 

“Dad, don’t. If I-” He took another noisy breath. “If I end up involved again, in any way, I’ll take a leave of absence and come home until everything is resolved. Okay?”

He grunted. “ _One more time might be once too many._ ”

“I know. I’ll be more careful.” He heard Derek and Scott enter the building, speaking to each other too quietly for him to hear. “I’m gonna go, Dad, okay?”

“ _Alright. Be safe, kid. I love you._ ”

“Love you, too, Dad.” He pressed the phone to his forehead after they’d hung up, closing his eyes.

Lemmy chirruped quietly, bumping his head gently to Stiles’s cheek.

He let out a wet laugh and bumped him back.

By the time Derek and Scott came in, Stiles had gotten dressed and washed his face. He had his Captain America backpack filled with two empty vials, a casting cloth, a shallow bowl, and his runes. 

“Hey. You ready?” Scott’s eyes swept over his face. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Stiles said before Scott could ask if he’d been crying. If anyone would recognize the signs, it would be Scott. “Let’s go.”

Scott nodded and bent to dig out Lemmy’s food. 

Derek had prepacked food in his arms, so Stiles opened his bag for him to load it in.

“Have fun. Don’t rush back,” Scott said. He poured the food and wobbled when Lemmy rushed through his legs. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay.”

 

Derek drove. 

Stiles was grateful. He didn’t think he could navigate feeling as he did. “Do you think Marlena is—do you think she’ll hate me?”

Derek glanced over at him quickly, then back to the road. “No. But people deal with grief differently. So I think if she’s—if she seems angry, it’s because of what happened, and not you.”

Stiles nodded. He knew that. He was still worried. Marlena was probably going to hate him. He should’ve told her.

It didn’t matter that he wasn’t trained and that he didn't know the best, most sensitive way to tell her; he was her friend, he’d known, and he hadn’t told her. Screw logic.

“Where are we going?” Stiles asked, shuffling his feet. “I didn’t manage to look for any halite or anything.”

“That’s fine. There’s a few shops in Clarksville we can get the supplies we need from.”

He nodded. “I brought my casting cloth and runes, just in case.” 

“Okay. What did you think about Dare’s book on rune casting with wood vs stone?”

Stiles knew he was only trying to engage him in conversation to take his mind off things, but he appreciated it.

 

_Silver Spoon_ was nestled between a bookstore and a laundromat. The door let out a soft, pleasant chime when they walked in. There was incense burning somewhere, but it was light and enjoyable, rather than overwhelming.

The guy running the register grinned at them. “Hey. Pink halite, right?”

Stiles whipped around to look at Derek. Fangs pricked at his gums.

“How do you know?” Derek managed to make the simple question sound aggressive, somehow.

The cashier grinned easily. “I’m a Seer; I saw you guys ask me where to find it, so I figured I’d skip the between steps.” He pointed at an aisle, where a basket was set neatly in front of the halite display. 

Stiles wandered over; Derek could ask the Seer about premade intuition potions. He decided on a medium halite; pink was best for their purposes, so he sifted through them. He could feel their energy. All of them were well charged and positive, but he wanted one that really…spoke to him. He concentrated on what he wanted, letting his fingers trail over the options. A clear, high chime went through his head; he closed his fingers around the one he’d touched and felt it vibrate in his palm. He inspected it as he shuffled toward the register. 

“How’d you do?” the cashier chirped.

Stiles just stared at him.

Derek arrived a moment later with a potion vial and a sachet of what smelled like angelica, chamomile, and clove. “I’ll pay,” he said, when Stiles reached for his wallet.

“You drove,” he muttered. He thumbed his debit card free before Derek could argue further. 

Derek tucked the sachet into the backpack when they got in the car. “Just in case.”

“Okay.” Stiles settled their purchases safely on top of the backpack, where it would be hard to knock them over. 

“There’s a campground I know of,” Derek said, glancing at him. “It’s usually pretty deserted this time of year, so I figured we could find an empty spot to practice.” 

“Okay.” He hated how dull and uninterested he sounded. It should’ve been fun, for both of them, to test their new limits out in the open. He sat up in his seat and cleared his throat. “Sounds great,” he said with a little more life in his voice. “We can prepare the crystal there, too.”

Derek nodded. “That’ll work.”

“How long a drive is it?”

He shrugged and grimaced. “About two hours from here.”

“Wow. Road trip.” He wasn’t irritated; if anything, he was relieved. Off campus, he wouldn’t have to deal with anything yet. For now, he could stuff it all away and ignore it, and no one would question it.

“There’s water in the bag,” Derek said after a few miles of silence. “Scott wants you to drink a lot of water for some reason.” 

“He’s always thinking I’m dehydrated.” Stiles made no move to get the water. “Do you mind if I turn on the radio?”

“Go ahead.”

Stiles fiddled with it until he found a station he liked.

Derek was tense, and he was doing his best to hide it from Stiles, but he could feel it through the bond. He was worried, and tense, and growing worse by the second.

It made Stiles itch. He wanted to argue about something, or talk about what spell they’d practice, but he got the feeling that Derek would back down from everything. He wanted to scream. Anything to break the careful tension. He inhaled sharply. 

“How’s your elemental mastery?” Derek asked suddenly. “Which does your magic respond to best?”

He exhaled. “Um, water.” He glanced at his face. “Why?”

“I was thinking of spells we can use to practice. Fire is the easiest, but it’s too dangerous.” 

He nodded. “Right. Water based stuff would work.” 

 

The campground was as deserted as Derek had predicted. He still led them in as deep as he could, following along a stream.

Stiles was thoroughly distracted by the _smells_ , enough so that he couldn’t get back out if he tried, if Derek chose to leave him to fend for himself. The woods smelled so drastically different from the city; whatever people had come through here had left only the faintest of scents, easily overpowered by the trees and brush, the damp earth and decaying leaves. He could smell the stream, too, fish and wet rocks, which was a strange new smell for him.

“Stiles?”

He’d stopped, staring up at a tree. “Huh?” He blinked sluggishly. 

“We’re almost there,” Derek said gently. “Have some water.”

“I’m fine. The smells distracted me.” He dug a water out of the backpack just in case, sipping as they walked. “How do you know where to go?”

“Last year during a long break, Laura, Cora, and I went camping out here instead of going home.”

“Ah.”

They walked for five more minutes; it was getting dark by the time Derek declared that they’d arrived. It was a tiny clearing between the trees, too close to the stream to be any good as a camping place. 

“You guys camped here?”

“No, further in, but I remembered we stopped here for lunch.”

Stiles swung the backpack off. “We should prepare the halite first, that way we can practice without interruptions.” He pulled the crystal out and the intuition potion. 

“Can I do the spell?”

“Yeah. Just do a detection spell; it should just come to you, with intent, since I’ve done it before.” Stiles thought about it, bringing the _feel_ of the spell forth.

Derek’s shoulders jerked. “How’d you do that?” He looked at his hands; magic sparked and leaped around his fingers. 

“I don’t know—I just thought about the spell. I wonder if it’d work for shifting…” He shook himself. “Crystal first.” He got out the shallow bowl he’d brought. “We need to concentrate on the campus and area around it, since that’s where it’s all happening.” 

Derek nodded. He was suddenly acting a little strangely, not quite meeting Stiles’s eyes. “I actually had an idea about that.” 

“Oh?”

“It probably won’t work, but I was thinking about how that trap was set in the library.” He rubbed a hand self-consciously over the scars still visible on his inner arm. “There was a focus item for the sigils, to make sure only _we_ were affected, right?”

“Yes. But how-”

“I looked up the latitude and longitude of campus,” he blurted. His cheeks flushed. “I thought that we could carve the coordinates into the crystal before we did the potion and sigils. To focus it.” 

“That’s an awesome idea! No wonder you get such good grades, god.” Stiles beamed at him. “What? What’re you looking at?”

“Nothing.” Derek coughed. “Glad you like the idea. Here.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his back pocket and passed it to Stiles.

He stared. “I can’t carve it in. I don’t have a knife.”

Derek sighed and flashed his claws. “You need the practice. Use the very tip for small details.”

Stiles grinned and said, “Are-”

“ _Whatever_ you’re about to say, just imagine saying it in front of your grandmother.”

He snorted. “Joke’s on you, my grandmother is worse than I am.” But he stopped. Teasing was one thing, but he could feel how uncomfortable Derek had gotten before he made the joke. So no dick jokes around Derek. What a shame. 

“Just get to carving, Grandma.”

Stiles laughed. “Only if you ready the sigils.”

“How?”

“Practice on some paper while I copy these.” Stiles turned the crystal in his palm, choosing a side to start with. Claws slid out, clacking gently against the sides. 

“Careful not to put too much pressure. We only brought one.” 

Stiles bared his teeth. “Thanks for the reminder that I could crush it on accident. That has _definitely_ eased my nerves.” 

Derek shrugged and grabbed the backpack, digging around until he found a scrap of paper and a pen.

Stiles took a breath. The coordinates were the easy part. He didn’t even have to put magic behind it. He was basically writing numbers. The first try, he didn’t put enough pressure, barely scratching the surface. He went over the numbers the second time a bit harder.

“That’s better,” Derek observed. “Why are you using your left hand?”

“What? Am I?” Stiles flexed his hands and realized that yes, he had been using his left hand to write on the crystal. “Uh, I don’t know. As far as I know, I’m not ambidextrous.” 

“Looked like you were.”

Stiles checked the rock; the numbers were as neat as his writing ever was. “Weird. But it’s ready for the sigils,” he said. 

Derek grimaced. “Oh.” He picked up the crystal. “How do I do that?” His gaze skipped around like he was looking for ink.

“Use your fingertip to draw it over the coordinates.” Stiles lifted his own hands. “Just let the magic come to you. The bond makes it easy.” Magic danced along his fingertips, flickering orange and gold. 

Derek lifted his hands, frowning in concentration. His face lit up when he managed to mimic Stiles. 

Stiles’s breath caught. 

Derek lifted his gaze, eyes bright with discovery. His smile changed just a little, baring his teeth more. 

Stiles cleared his throat. “Good. Now just do that while you draw the sigil on the crystal.” He watched a little too closely while Derek worked, admiring the concentration in his eyes, the way his jaw flexed while he worked. 

“You’re staring,” he said mildly.

“Supervising,” Stiles corrected, even though Derek clearly knew what he was doing. _Supervising_ sounded good, not creepy at all. Not like he was suddenly intrigued by the expression Derek made when he was concentrating. 

Derek snorted, amusement sparking through the bond. 

Stiles focused his attention on the crystal, trying to force his emotions into bland feelings about halite. 

Derek finished the sigils with a quiet grunt of triumph.

Stiles got the bowl and intuition potion. “I’ll pour it over while you do the spell. After that, it should be ready.” He shrugged. “We won’t know if it works until something happens on campus.” 

“Alright.” His brows furrowed in concentration. He was trying to practice the spell without actually doing it. 

Stiles set the crystal in the bowl. The intuition potion was mostly to channel their intentions for the crystal. It tipped, dull gold, over the crystal. It smelled like burned sugar and flowers. He glanced at Derek as he poured.

Derek nodded and put his hand over the crystal. Magic pulsed from his palm, making him flinch. 

They really, really needed to practice.

They both shuddered when the magic settled; a pulse of power emanated from the crystal.

“I think it worked.” 

Derek nodded.

“Well, while we wait, let’s start practicing.” Stiles eyed the stream. It was deep enough to be useful, not so deep it would sweep them away. He started taking his shoes off. “Come on. You wanted to do something big.” He rolled up his jeans as far as he could get them—to the knees. They were still going to get wet, he could tell.

“What’re we going to do?” Wariness seeped through the bond.

“ _You_ are going to do something cool. Come on, you don’t want to get your shoes wet.”

Derek sighed, but he did as told. His jeans were too tight to roll up, though, so he gave in and just took them off. He didn’t seem embarrassed, so Stiles decided he wouldn’t be, either. It was exactly the same as wearing shorts. Really short, tight shorts. 

Stiles waded in first, hissing at the icy water. “We’re going to do some water spells.”

“Okay.” Derek followed him in. “Elemental magic creates and manipulates water, right? And water spells can create it, but it’s harder to control, so it’s mostly for manipulating it…?”

“Yes.” Stiles didn’t tease him; he was nervous and eager, excited to play with the full extent of their magic where they wouldn’t get caught, and Stiles didn’t want to ruin it for him. 

“Just double checking.”

Stiles nodded. He tried to come up with a way to explain he wanted Derek to do, a _clear_ way, but wasn’t sure how to put his thoughts into words. 

Derek tipped his head. “Yeah, I can do that,” he said, as if replying to Stiles’s thoughts.

“Uh, do what?”

“What you want me to do.” Derek didn’t notice his expression. He swept his hand over the surface of the water, dipping his fingers in. He created ripples at first, little practices pushes and then—

Derek brought his hand up and over his head, then down his other side. It should’ve looked ridiculous, but the water followed him, arcing over their heads and flowing like its own self-contained river.

Stiles tipped his head back to watch. He grinned as water dappled his face. He flicked his fingers and light flashed above them, projecting rainbows. 

Derek huffed a laugh; when Stiles looked, he was grinning, too.

“You felt it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles nodded and looked back at the water. “What’d it feel like for you?”

The water splashed down, drenching them both.

Stiles reared back, sputtering, and slipped. He landed on his butt, tailbone throbbing. “Why’d you do that?”

“I—sorry, I just—lost my grip on the water.” He held his hand out.

Stiles grabbed it and yanked him down. “It’s only fair,” he said when Derek gaped at him. 

“Okay.” He pushed his wet hair out of his eyes. “Should we practice some more?” 

Stiles looked at him. _Yes_ , he was supposed to say. _Yes, you clearly need more practice, considering we’re drenched._ He kept looking. 

Derek drew in a breath and kept looking, too. Water tracked down his cheeks, but his expression was bright, weirdly light for him. 

A pulse of orange light flew through the clearing. Awareness made the hair on Stiles’s arms stand on end. 

“The crystal.” He leaped up and ran for it.

Derek put his jeans back on, then picked up the crystal and gasped, his hand clenching around it. His eyes turned orange, and his gaze went distant, unfocused. 

Stiles left him to it, slinging the backpack on and stuffing his feet in his shoes. He picked Derek’s shoes up and ran to his side. “We can run, we might make it to the car-”

“There’s no time, it’s…not on campus,” he muttered. “It’s near it, but—there’s a quicker way.” He swiped his free hand through the air. A portal tore open.

Stiles gasped, nearly doubling over as he drew on their magic. “Derek, we’ve never traveled with our portals before,” he began, panicked. 

“We’re strong enough. There isn’t _time._ ” He grabbed Stiles by the elbow and yanked him through.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! It's Tuesday again! :D Warning for a misunderstanding and a bit of angst in this chapter. D:<

Portal travel was uncomfortable; that was why airlines, buses, and trains were still in business. It felt like shoving your body through a wall of ice, and then tumbling into a fire pit. The air was thick and humid, it was dark, you could stumble into the wrong place or worse, the right place, just the wrong room, and see something you really, really didn’t want to see. 

Their magic was stretched too far. They’d never made a portal big enough for two adult men to travel through and it felt—awful. Like overexerting a muscle. Stiles didn’t think Derek knew, or maybe he didn’t care, but Stiles felt like he’d been kicked in the chest. He was still doubled over when they tumbled out of the portal. He opened his eyes, breathing hard, and saw…nothing. 

“What the…” Derek began. He dropped Stiles’s arm and took his shoes from him with a muttered, “thanks”.

Why would Derek _let go_ when it was so dark even their shifter vision couldn’t see?

“Stiles,” he snapped. “Come _on_ , we have to find it before they know we’re here.”

Oh. Oh _crap._ Stiles shook his head. “I can’t see.” He brought a hand up to his face. 

Panic shot through them both, sharp and acidic in the back of Stiles’s throat. “What? Why not?” Derek’s voice was high. 

Stiles swallowed. “It’s blowback. We used too much magic trying to get here.” 

Guilt swamped the bond. “ _I_ used too much magic.”

Stiles put a hand out. “You’re going to have to guide me, or—or leave me here while you look around.”

Derek’s hand wrapped around his, firmly clasping them together. “I’m not leaving you. You can’t see to protect yourself.” ‘ _And I did this to you._ ’ Horror and guilt was still coming from his half of the bond; his hand was icy against Stiles’s, and trembling.

“You didn’t know _this_ would happen. Neither did I. That’s why it’s called blowback and not, like, _overuse nosebleeds_ or _magic blindness_.” He could smell metal and cardboard, dust and a hint of magic, all over Derek’s panicked scent. He didn’t know why _he_ was so bothered; he wasn’t the one struck blind. 

“Right.” His voice was barely a murmur. “We’re in a warehouse. I can’t hear anyone, but they’d be able to mask their heartbeat.” 

“I can smell magic.”

“Me too, but that could be from us.”

“Mm.” Stiles went quiet, listening for any hint of life. People made noise, even if they hid their heartbeats. He hated not being able to see, especially in this moment. 

They walked quickly; Stiles didn’t know if it was just a big open space or if they were checking rooms. At some point, they turned and Stiles bumped a wall.

“I’m sorry.” 

“No big deal. I’m starting to think-”

The floor rumbled; behind them, something fell and shattered. 

Stiles cringed and shuffled closer to Derek. “What’s-”

Derek yanked him in so hard his shoulder wrenched—something rumbled to their right, then slammed to the floor.

Stiles clamped his hands over his ears, squeezing his eyes shut as if that would change anything. A second slam rattled his brain. 

The rumbling stopped; the building went quiet except for their panicked breaths.

“Earthquake?” He couldn’t imagine what else it’d be.

A rustling noise, then Derek said, “No, I don’t think so.” He swallowed; the sound was incredibly loud. “I’m sorry about your eyes.” 

“It’ll wear off soon,” Stiles said slowly. “Just like the nosebleed.”

“Stiles, it’s…” Derek inhaled heavily. “I think we walked into a trap.”

“Oh.” He inhaled, too, and could only smell himself, Derek, and magic, so thick he almost choked. “Right. Is anything on fire? What kind of trap?” The air started getting humid almost immediately. 

“Stretch out your right arm.”

“Which way?”

He laughed dryly. “Any way.”

Stiles put his arm out to the side. Fully extended, his palm pressed to a cool, solid wall. He moved his arm forward and felt a wall in front of him, too. “What’s—are we—are we blocked in?”

“Yeah.” 

“Shit.” He took a breath. “Okay, if this was done with magic, there’ll be a give somewhere that will break the spell.” 

“Why?”

“Because people aren’t infallible, and magic is an extension of the user.” Stiles pulled away from Derek and started feeling along the wall. “It might not necessarily be a physical _give_ ; the wall might feel different: coarse, or hot, or like fabric. Something inconsistent.” Aside from the panic, Stiles could feel Derek’s confusion and mounting anger. “What? What’s wrong? Aside from the obvious.”

“How are you _so calm_?” he growled. “You can’t even see.” 

Stiles paused. “Are you irritated that I’m _not_ panicking-”

“No-”

“Because, let me tell you, this is no picnic-”

“That’s not-”

“-and I am going to freak the _fuck_ out when I have the chance-”

“I didn’t mean-”

“-but we have to get out of here first, _okay_?” Stiles narrowed his eyes.

Derek let out a wet laugh. “I’m over here.”

Stiles turned his face toward him. “ _Wherever_ you are, get back to work so I can have my well-deserved freak out.” 

“Right.”

Stiles crouched and felt along the bottom of the walls, sliding his fingertips along until— “ _Ha._ ” The wall felt warm where he was touching it. “Think I found it.” He pulled at their magic and felt a sharp pain in his chest. “Oh, crap.”

“What?”

“I think we’re tapped out,” he said weakly.

Derek grunted.

A hand nudged Stiles’s shoulder, making him jump; Derek pulled away, muttering an apology. “Can you move over a bit?” he asked. “I think I can get us out.”

Stiles shuffled left. “I already told you, our magic is-” a noisy _crash_ and a blip of pain through the bond interrupted him. A hunk of something clipped his shoulder. He yelped, then felt Derek lean over him. The crashing noises continued and fresh, cool air rushed in. “What’d you do?’

“I punched through the wall at the spot you said was weak. The rest of the box collapsed when I did it.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s…great.” Stiles shook him off and stood. “We need to leave. That trap was meant to contain us until they got here.”

“Then we should stay, so we can see who it is!”

Stiles snarled. He was surprised and pleased by how vicious it sounded. 

“Sorry,” Derek said, not sounding sorry at all, “but I think-”

“ _I_ think you’re done making decisions for both of us,” Stiles snapped. “You didn’t consider the possibility that this might be a trap, _you_ decided to throw us through a portal with no idea where it would let out, _you_ tapped out our magic—yes, Derek, _our_ magic, not just yours—and left me completely useless! And you didn’t check for traps!” 

“I didn’t want anyone else to die!” Derek snarled back.

Chelsea’s eyes flashed in Stiles’s mind. “Neither do I! But I don’t want to die either!” The darkness seemed to lighten a bit, gray leaking in as the blowback wore off. “I can’t _see_ , Derek, not _anything_. I can’t use magic, I have no idea where we are-”

“I apologized for that. I didn’t know-”

“ _Exactly!_ You have no idea how dimensional portals work, but instead of asking me, you just ripped one open and hurled us both in!” More light seeped in, shapes and shadows filling his sight. “You could have flung us across the country, or into a demon realm or something!” 

“People are _dying_ , I didn’t think making a three hour drive was going to work!” 

Stiles’s vision returned suddenly; Derek’s face was red with temper, eyes bloodshot. “We can’t help anyone if we’re powerless or incapacitated! What if the blowback had affected us both?!”

Derek’s jaw worked. “You aren’t exactly making the best decisions yourself,” he spat finally. 

“Ex _cuse_ me?”

“You took a walk at three in the morning, by yourself, knowing there was someone killing people.”

“And if I hadn’t, it’d have been hours before anyone found Lydia and—her.” Stiles was breathing hard. He was ready to keep going, ready for whatever _bullshit_ defense Derek threw at him next. 

“Well—just—don’t!”

“Don’t _what?!_ ” 

Derek’s face screwed up. 

Stiles braced for fangs, maybe a lunge.

“Don’t keep fucking throwing yourself at the killer! At some point, they’re going to take you up on it!” 

“Well maybe you should stop doing that, too! What do you think _this_ was, jackass?”

Derek surged forward so violently that Stiles tensed; if he wanted to fight, Stiles was ready—no, fucking _eager_ —for it at this point.

He didn’t. He grabbed the front of Stiles’s still-damp t-shirt, yanked him forward, and kissed him so hard he could feel teeth. 

Stiles gasped against his mouth, his hands falling to his sides. 

Derek licked in, his free hand coming up to angle Stiles’s jaw better, holding tight enough to bruise. 

Stiles decided he wasn’t going to just stand there. He grabbed fistfuls of Derek’s hair and yanked his head back, giving as good as he got.

Derek let out a strangled moan. He let go of Stiles’s shirt to grab at his hip, pulling him closer. Teeth grazed Stiles’s lip, then bit down. 

He was too busy to care, sliding his hands from Derek’s hair and over his shoulders, down his back. His hands stopped at his hips, kneading at the skin where his shirt had ridden up.

Pleasure and fury and lust bound through them, surging from both sides and multiplying, doubling over until neither could tell who was feeling how much.

Stiles shoved Derek back a step, then another, ignoring it when he frowned, confused. He backed him into a wall and kissed him again, hard, sliding his tongue along the seam of his lips until he opened for him. His own teeth felt too big for his mouth, too sharp, any control he’d learned lost in his—what? Anger? Lust? Both?

Derek’s hands dropped to his waist, bunching his shirt up in his fists.

Stiles dragged his mouth down his jaw to his throat, breathing wetly. “You smell good,” he growled. “You know?”

Derek whined, soft and low.

Stiles bit the side of his neck. “Yeah, I thought so.” He trailed kisses down Derek’s chest, dragging his shirt aside to mouth at his skin.

“Stiles,” he began, strangled. 

“ _What?_ ” 

“We—we—” He cut off when Stiles started toying with the button on his jeans, eyes lighting up gold.

Stiles flashed his own back and felt Derek’s muscles jump against him. 

“You can see again.”

“Yeah.” Stiles yelped, then laughed breathlessly, when Derek twisted so Stiles was the one pinned to the wall. He dropped his head back, breathing hard as Derek mouthed down his throat like he was returning the favor. 

He scraped his teeth across Stiles’s pulse, following up with his tongue. Urgency made everything sharper, made their hands fumbling and greedy. Stiles couldn’t control his fangs but Derek could, and he did, dropping to his knees and pulling at Stiles’s jeans until they slid down to his thighs. He glanced up, hesitating until Stiles nodded. 

“Please,” he gasped. “Touch me or—or anything, please.”

Derek bit his hip, hard and shocking, then grinned and kissed the fading bruise before nosing along his pelvis and toward his cock. He flicked his tongue out, grinning when Stiles groaned in frustration. When he closed his mouth over him, Stiles dug clawed fingers into the wall at his back.

He didn’t last long, not with Derek alternately bobbing his head and working his tongue and throat over him; when the edge of fang scraped very, very gently over him, he fisted a hand in Derek’s hair, trying to warn him or pull him off or—something. 

Derek growled and batted his hand away, and Stiles couldn’t do anything but come with a strangled whine. Derek hummed and swallowed around him, then leaned away, flushed and breathing hard. 

Stiles slid to the floor, dazed. His teeth felt human again, thankfully. His arms felt like limp noodles and he wanted something sweet with _every fiber of his being._

Derek made a low noise that had him looking up.

_Almost_ every fiber of his being. The rest of him wanted to get his mouth and hands on Derek. 

He tackled Derek. There were things in the world Stiles was willing to do; sitting back uninvolved while the hot guy who just blew him got himself off with no help from him was not one of them. He scraped his teeth under Derek’s belly button and down, yanking his tight boxers down with his teeth.

“Fangs,” Derek said, strained.

Stiles grinned. “No, just teeth.”

Derek dropped his head back, panting. “’Kay.”

It didn’t take Derek long, either; he’d been close from his own hands, so Stiles only went down twice, scraping his nails over Derek’s thighs, before he was coming with a shaky moan that sounded like Stiles’s name.

Stiles let his cheek rest against Derek’s thigh for a minute, catching his breath. His brain felt less foggy, his body relaxed. Once he had a cupcake or something, he’d be terrific. He licked the crease of Derek’s thigh impulsively, tasting sweat and flesh, and sat up grinning.

Derek stayed sprawled for a few, staring at the ceiling unblinkingly.

Stiles let him bask and got to work putting his clothes to rights. He hadn’t even gotten his pants all the way off. He poked Derek’s hip. “Put your junk away, dude.” 

Derek’s gaze shifted to his, and his emotions broke through Stiles’s pleasant glow finally. Guilt and horror bore down on him, nearly choking him.

He reared back.

“Wait, Stiles, I’m-” He reached for him.

He threw his hands up. “Don’t touch me.” He felt dirty, suddenly, knowing how _horrified_ Derek was by what they’d done. “We need to go.” He scrambled to his feet. 

“Stiles, _please_.”

He shook his head. His throat was tight, he couldn’t speak, so he just started walking.

Derek caught up to him outside, carrying the discarded backpack Stiles had forgotten about. “You need to listen to me-”

“No, I really don’t. You feel gross because of that? Fine.” Stiles stalked down the sidewalk.

“Stiles, the killer-”

A chill ran down his spine. He stopped. “They what?”

“Could have come in while we were distracted.” Derek’s hair was wild, his eyes still somewhat bloodshot, and he looked drawn, but not like he’d been under any spell.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, relieved by that, at least. “We were meant to be locked in that trap for a while.” He inhaled. “They wanted to hold us in there.” He crossed his arms, giving Derek a sharp look when he reached for his shoulder. “We should go. Your car is still where we left it.” Stiles was tempted to tell him to go get it by himself, but he just…didn’t have it in him.

“If we stay and hide, the killer might still show up.”

Stiles looked at the building. “Maybe, but we’re still tapped out, and they’ve got a bound demon at their disposal. Plus, they’ll know as soon as they see the wall you broke and try to find us. It wouldn’t take long,” he muttered. He shook his head. “We should go get your car. It’ll be a little bit before we’re back at full power.”

Derek nodded.

They were quiet the whole way back to the Camaro; Derek was too busy stewing in guilt and shame to talk, and Stiles was too hurt and upset to try speaking to him anyway.

He thought about the trap instead. Somehow, the killer had guessed they would find a way to detect portals, which meant even the crystal could be fooled. It also meant they were incredibly lucky that the killer wasn’t waiting for them when they burst through the portal, drained and blind. He wondered if Derek had considered that, but dragged his thoughts away forcefully. There was no use dwelling.

They got to the Camaro by around ten. Stiles had to text Scott to let him know they were running late. Scott told him to take his time. 

After twenty more minutes of silence, he couldn’t take it anymore. “ _What_ is your problem?” he blurted. “What? Was it _so_ horrible that you’re suffocating in shame? Are you straight? Dating someone? _What?_ ”

“No, jesus, no.” Derek inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring. He flexed his hands around the steering wheel. “I…it’s just…”

“Just spit it out already. There’s nothing you can say right now that could possibly make me feel worse.” That was probably a lie, but whatever. At least he’d know.

Derek glanced at him, then back at the road. He sighed heavily, shoulders slumping. “I’m _sorry_ , okay? I knew you were upset by what happened earlier, and the blindness, and I—took advantage and—I’m sorry,” he said, and the words _You’re fragile_ came through the bond as clearly as if he’d said them. He winced.

Fury lit Stiles like a flame. “I am _not_ fragile! I made my own decisions and you know what? Yeah, some of it might’ve been because of everything that happened. So what? I felt _better_ afterwards, until you acted like we just ran over someone’s dog.”

Derek still felt guilty, though the horror dissipated after a little bit. “What next?”

“I want food,” Stiles muttered. While they drove, Stiles wondered if that was a one-time thing; a stress relief and nothing more. He could handle it if it was. Fine by him.

He’d mostly convinced himself of that by the time they parked out front of Irene’s. 

Lisette was their server again, and she positively glowed at the sight of them. “Hey, boys. Want your usual?”

“Actually, I just want some eggs and toast.” Stiles offered a weak smile.

She flicked her eyes toward Derek, then back at Stiles. Her brows furrowed. “And you?”

“The—my usual is fine,” Derek mumbled.

“Right. I’ll be back with that right away.” She marched away.

“What do you think we should do next?”

Stiles sat back, surprised. “We come up with likely suspects and investigate them.” 

“How do we pick?’

Stiles grabbed a napkin and started twisting it between his fingers. “We figure people who’ve had access to campus, people who would’ve been able to overhear our plans, and people with a grudge against shifters.” He jerked a shoulder. “We investigate and hope we’ve got the right person so we can stop them from killing again.”

Derek nodded slowly. “I think Kate Argent is a good suspect.”

Stiles lifted his brows. “I was going to suggest Matt Daehler, actually.” 

“I doubt he’d be that obvious if he was behind it.”

“If he is behind it, he already knows we’re looking into it, so why bother covering? He’s been powerful enough to trap us before.”

“ _If_ it’s him. I still think it’s Kate. She’s a bounty hunter,” he insisted. “But she only turns in shifter criminals.”

“Still criminals.” At Derek’s glare, he held his hands up. “Fine. We’ll investigate them both. I can look into Kate since she’s my friend’s aunt; you take Matt.”

“Fine.”

Stiles nodded and, well, that was that. Everything was fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next post on Friday!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a littttttle bit early. Kinda. I'm just excited to get to the end. X) I hope you like it! LMK what you think!

Classes were cancelled due to Chelsea’s murder. They had free time to spare, so Stiles decided it was the perfect time for surveillance. That worked in his favor, since they needed to watch both Matt _and_ Kate, and had to split up to do that. Stiles didn’t want to be around Derek at the moment, and if that made him immature, so be it. 

Kate was Stiles’s mark. She spent a lot of time on campus, it turned out, which made it easy to spy on her. 

Stiles had heard plenty of times how boring surveillance was from his dad, but he’d never experienced it himself. “Soul crushing” did not begin to cover it. Of course, the sheriff hadn’t had to sit in his car the whole time, since his mark was usually in public and could be watched from the comfort of a diner or something. 

“That’s right,” he muttered, watching Kate march across the sidewalk, “go poke around _another_ dorm building. That’s only your fourth one.”

Kate poked around outside the building, but never dared try to go in. She would look in windows and prod at protective sigils, but she didn’t mess with the doors. Whenever anyone would notice her, she’d grin and wave, so casual that most people would move on. 

One professor that Stiles didn’t know didn’t trust her innocent act and demanded some identification. 

It was pretty entertaining to watch Kate try to explain. The professor, who had seen her poking around the protective sigils, was apparently not buying it. 

Stiles grinned and dug into the bucket of Twizzlers in the passenger seat. His phone rang.

Scott was calling. “ _Hey. You want to hang out Wednesday?_ ”

“Hm? Sure, yeah.”

He paused. “ _Okay. I’m getting a group together, so if you wanted to invite Derek…_ ”

Stiles snorted, but he didn’t want to explain to Scott why he was mad at him—the truth or something he made up—so he said, “I’ll get back to you about that.”

“ _Great! I’ll see you later! I’m picking up some hours at the clinic, so I won’t be home until…really late._ ” 

Stiles winced. He was supposed to be working in the library that night. “Alright. See you later, dude.”

Kate had finally gotten rid of the suspicious professor. She still looked annoyed, and seemed like she couldn’t figure out what to do next.

Stiles grinned. He was biased, he guessed, but the frustration on her face was even better than the Twizzlers.

Derek texted.

Stiles ignored it.

Kate went to her car.

Stiles had been worried she would do that. Following someone in a car was harder than it looked. But he still had several hours before he had to start work, and he had nothing other than Kate’s weird behavior to show for today’s work. 

When she left campus, gunning it at the green light, Stiles followed. He _had_ gotten one thing done, at least: he’d put a tracking sigil on Kate’s car. A spell would’ve been more reliable, but sigils were easy to place, for instance on the back of a tire, and weren't detectable until they were active and even then, they were barely powerful enough to blip the radar.  
Stiles followed her into the city, watching her look for parking, and cursed. He was going to have to pay for parking, too. 

Once he’d parked the jeep, he had to track down Kate’s car, following the pull of his sigil. She’d already left the car.

“Fuck.” He scanned the area, but no one was paying attention to him.

Kate wasn’t anywhere in sight.

Stiles gnawed on his cheek, eyeing the car. He looked around again. Hmm. He leaned in and inhaled; he sputtered, jerking back and putting his hand over his face.

Exhaust fumes, hot rubber, a faint, flowery perfume. The fumes burned, but he had to endure them again to get a better whiff of Kate’s scent. 

He stepped back a couple paces and inhaled again. He could sort of smell the perfume, but it was faint, partially obscured by the (appalling) scents of the city. 

He was standing there cursing himself for not sucking it up and bringing Derek when he heard Kate’s voice. His stomach clutched, sure he’d been caught, until he realized she was on the phone.

“No, Tyler, I _don’t_ see the big deal. I sent them your number because you’re almost as good as me.” She laughed meanly. “Yeah, well, you catch the flyer, then I’ll say you’re second best.”

Stiles shook himself and followed her voice, dodging busy pedestrians when he could. He was trying not to run, but she was getting further away. He couldn’t lose her again.

Derek’s end of the bond suddenly filled with unease, so strong Stiles felt his own neck prickle with it.

He kept following Kate’s voice.

“Yeah, of course. I’ll give you a call once I’m taking jobs again. Yep. See you.” A beep. “Fucking moron.”

Stiles could see her, finally; there were a couple groups of people between them, but that was fine. She’d have a hard time noticing him mixed with the crowds.

“Hello?”

How many calls was she going to _get?_ And where was she going?

“Yeah, I got mine. Two weeks ago. There’s only four days left.” A pause, then an irritable sigh. “Marcus. Four days. Not weeks. Check the invitation.” Another pause. “Told you. Oh, sure, I’ll see you there. I’m already in the city. No, because of—yeah. And my niece.” She scoffed. “She already linked her magic with some flea-bitten—uh-huh. Well, Chris is an idiot, and Vicky didn’t put her foot down.”

Stiles scowled. He’d met Mr. and Mrs. Argent—he’d known them since high school, actually—but they’d never said anything negative about shifters as far as he’d known. They didn’t have familiars, but Stiles’s dad didn’t, either. It wasn’t uncommon. 

Allison had never mentioned Kate having a problem with familiars, not like this. She’d always talked about how much fun her Aunt Kate was, and how exciting her job was and basically Stiles was struggling to piece together this Kate, whose existence he’d only suspected existed but that he’d never seen, with the Kate who Allison adored.

Kate kept talking, moving past Allison and onto…clothes? “It’s black tie only, and I had a dress tailored, so _yes_ , I expect you to wear a tux, Marcus. Don’t rent one!” she snapped. She stopped outside of a Chinese restaurant. “You have enough money for a rush job to touch up the tux you wore last year. Don’t be stingy.”

Someone bumped Stiles’s shoulder from behind.

“Sorry.” He stepped to the side, keeping his head ducked. 

“So, I will see you Saturday, in your tux, in the jag. Good.” She hung up and put her phone away. She glanced around, then shrugged and went into the restaurant.

Stiles swore. The restaurant was too small for him to go in and keep an eye on her.

But, he realized, there was a coffee shop across the street. He rubbed his jaw, then shrugged and made his way to the crosswalk.

He got a coffee and took a seat facing the window.

His luck was holding; Kate took a seat by the window, too, and the barstool Stiles was on was high enough that he could see over most cars and some of the pedestrians to keep her in sight. He couldn’t hear her, but he could see that she was on the phone again.

His phone buzzed with more messages. He sighed and took it out.

Derek had texted him three times. 

He rolled his eyes and opened them.

‘ _ **Where are you?**_ ’

‘ _ **Following Matt now.**_ ’

‘ _ **Did you leave campus to follow Kate?!**_ ’

Frustrated, Stiles called him. “Stop texting that stuff!” he hissed as soon as he answered. “Paper trail!”

Derek was quiet a second. “Okay. Did you?”

“Yes. I said I was going to…keep watch,” he muttered behind his hand, “all day, didn’t I?”

More silence.

He huffed. “What about Matt? Anything important?”

“Not really. His magic is weird.”

“Weird how?”

“I don’t know, just _weird._ I’m too far away to tell.”

Stiles scoffed. “Okay.”

“And what have you gathered?” Derek sneered.

“I’ve found that Kate is a jerk, and that she’s going to a party this Saturday.”

“Really. Fascinating.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna go. I only have three hours before I have to go to work.”

Derek cleared his throat. “I think-”

“That we should be paying attention? Great idea!” Stiles hung up. He could feel Derek’s frustration and hurt feelings, like he was the wronged party. Stiles scoffed. He wasn’t the one who—

Kate was leaving the restaurant.

Stiles leaped to his feet, nearly toppling over his chair. 

Kate walked with purpose, her strides long and loose. She never spoke to anyone she passed, and didn’t check over her shoulder. She stopped at an alley and turned sharply. 

Stiles followed her and saw she’d gone into a seedy magic shop that reeked of dry blood and other strange, unsavory scents. He stayed outside, listening as she asked for things from the cashier. 

After a few minutes, they switched to French. 

Stiles glowered. He had a basic understanding of a few languages. French was not one of them.

“Well if you don’t have it, order it,” Kate snapped finally. “It’s not as if you have any _other_ customers. And I want a discount on this, it’s leaking.”

“Ma’am, that is highly valuable product, I can’t give you a discount. The jar isn’t leaking, it’s-”

“What do you call that, genius? Blood. Leaking from _your_ jar.” 

Stiles’s face twisted. Kate was buying blood? Gross, also illegal, he thought, unless it was animal. Animal blood wasn’t usually sold at magic shops, though. And why? Illegal magic, maybe. He rubbed his fingers together. He wondered if he could get a picture of her buying the blood without getting caught.

The shop was just too small.

Besides, a picture didn’t really prove anything. It could’ve easily been animal blood.

It would get the police to look at her, though. 

Stiles bit his cheek and glanced into the shop again. He could go in and snap some pictures, throw caution to the wind. He’d have to be sure the pictures were good enough for the police to get involved, or else he would be exposing himself for nothing. 

Kate started toward the door, having paid while he was distracted.

Stiles scrambled back and out of sight.

Kate stepped outside and paused, looking around.

He held his breath.

She frowned, eyes narrowing, before she moved on, shaking her head.

Stiles didn’t start breathing again until she was out of sight. He decided he’d seen enough for today. He’d call it quits until tomorrow. 

 

At work, once the library had cleared—there weren’t that many people to begin with, since classes had been sporadic at best—Stiles took out the mirror he’d brought with him. He wasn’t sure who he wanted to contact: his mother or Efeni. Both had too many pros and cons to count.

He hadn’t updated Efeni in a while, so he decided to reach out to the demon realm.

He answered swiftly. “Another dead student,” he hissed.

Stiles cringed. “Yes.”

Efeni studied Stiles’s face. “You’ve involved yourself.”

“Well, only on accident.”

Efeni bared…several teeth. “What have you learned?”

“We have two suspects.” Stiles quickly filled him in, though he left out the illegal bonding.

Claudia was dead, not powerless. If she heard from Efeni that Stiles had bonded with a shifter and hidden it from her, she’d be furious.

“I see,” Efeni growled. He forced himself to relax. “I believe you’re right. The killer has bound a demon.” He looked over one of his shoulders. “I have my own investigation going on. I’m going to come.”

Stiles’s brows furrowed. “Come?”

Efeni frowned; the word hadn’t translated well. “Visit. I don’t want you being a target, so I’m going to help with the-”

“That’s not a good idea.” Stiles dropped his gaze. He hated saying no, but… “Everyone is so jumpy that _any_ demon on the premises will probably be blamed. And you can’t just drop everything and come here.”

His eyes narrowed, examining Stiles’s expression from several angles. “I see.” He made a growling noise in the back of his throat. “I expect you to still be alive when you speak to me next.”

“I will be.”

“Now, you’re doing surveillance on these people? What have you learned?”

Stiles frowned. “I told you, I-”

“No, not what you’ve seen. What you’ve learned.”

“I guess…that Kate’s bigoted toward shifters, and shops at creepy stores. She doesn’t think anyone would dare follow her, she never checks behind her. She’s kind of a snob,” he added, thinking about the party conversation, “and she talks shit about her own brother to people. She gets a lot of phone calls.” 

Efeni nodded. “And your other suspect?”

Stiles grimaced. “Ah, my…partner was following him today. He hasn’t…updated me yet.”

Several of his eyes narrowed. “Why are you hesitating?”

“I’m not!”

He studied him for a long moment, made a low chittering hum, and shoved on. “Are you going to watch her again tomorrow?”

That sounded so creepy. “Yeah. I have to find out for sure if she’s involved or not. If I could get proof to show police, to get them looking in her direction, then it should work itself out.” 

“Alright. Be careful. Contact me again tomorrow so you can tell me what you’ve learned.”

“Okay.” Stiles waited until Efeni nodded to close the portal. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He wondered if Derek was going to show up. He didn’t think he could deal with him now. 

 

Watching Kate the next day went mostly the same. She had a routine, which started with poking around campus in the early hours of the morning like a freak, then having lunch with Allison, then progressing to stalking around campus like a weirdo, in the afternoon. She never once checked if she was being watched.

Stiles took notes on his phone, not that there was much to see. 

She met with a woman around two, shaking her hand and flashing teeth. 

Stiles could just make out the forced-polite tone in her voice, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying. 

The woman didn’t look any more genuine than Kate was. She had a smile on her face, but her eyes were blank, like she was mentally going over her grocery list.

Stiles considered getting closer to eavesdrop, but Kate was walking away before he’d decided. 

She was grinning.

The other woman simply looked confused. 

Stiles didn’t have much to tell Efeni that night. 

 

Kate stuck near campus on Wednesday. She poked around the dorms, the class buildings, and the Summoning building. She performed magic that stank like burned hair. It _seemed_ like she actually _was_ trying to find something—though whether she was looking for the killer or another victim wasn’t clear. She started messing around with her phone while Stiles was around the corner of the Summoning building. 

He’d been trying to find a way to record her doing _something_ suspect, but so far hadn’t had any luck. 

Her phone rang.

Stiles hit the record button on his phone and prayed she didn’t walk away. 

She answered with an impatient, “ _What?_ ” She scoffed, then said, “No, but I’m sure you’ll show me on Saturday. Marcus, there are plenty of ways, witches have been doing it for centuries. Well, that’s because the majority of people are morons.” She sneered, “Do you really think I would _bond_ with one for power? No! Just a drop of their blood or a strand of their hair makes spells stronger.”

Stiles dug his fingers into his knee, catching his breath.

“That’s illegal, moron. I’ll tell you more on Saturday. The _party_ , which you’d _better_ be properly dressed for.” She muttered an oath and stuck her phone back in her pocket. 

Stiles stopped recording and drummed his fingers. 

Kate grunted and stomped away, the strike of her boots against pavement echoing sharply off the buildings. 

Stiles thumped his head on the bricks. He thought he was going to have to get into that party. But he’d have to find out where it was, what time… He looked at his phone thoughtfully. He looked around, then headed back to the jeep. He hopped in the driver’s seat and called Allison. “Hey,” he said before she could say more than a greeting, “remember in junior year when you wanted the house to yourself so I distracted your parents for you? Kept them out all afternoon teaching me tracking magic?”

Allison was silent. Then, slowly, “ _Yes…_ ”

“I need to cash in that favor. I need you to take your aunt out to lunch.” He paused, considered, and added, “A _long_ lunch.”

Another silence. “ _Why?_ ”

“I didn’t ask questions then,” he said. “I believe the pact was no questions now, no questions later.” He hesitated. “I’m not going to do anything like rob her or ransack anything. Nothing bad.”

She sighed. “ _She’s staying at the Blue Ridge Hotel. I’ll text you when she meets me and when she leaves._ ”

“Perfect! Thank you.”

“ _We’re even now, Stilinski._ ”

“Of course.” He hung up and patted himself down for his keys. He thought about involving Derek, but ultimately decided not to. It’d be quicker to just get it done. This way, he wouldn’t have to waste time convincing Derek this was a good idea.

And he could continue avoiding him, which was an added bonus.

Blue Ridge was close to campus, close enough that Stiles got there even before Allison told him Kate had arrived for lunch. 

Cora had tagged along; Kate probably _loved_ that. 

Since Allison hadn’t shared Kate’s room number, Stiles wasn’t sure how he was going to find it. The lobby was busy enough that he slipped right past the desk without being noticed. He didn’t like the idea of being trapped in the elevator, so he went to the stairwell. As soon as he opened the door, he grinned. 

Apparently Kate was one of the few that didn’t trust the elevators, and since the hall was fairly closed off, the smell of her hadn’t faded.

Stiles silently promised to forgive Derek if he got out of here without being caught. It was his excellent sense of smell that was getting Stiles the lead he needed. 

It was a bit confusing the further up the scent went; there were dozens of other smells mingling with Kate’s, and Stiles found himself distracted more than once: by cleaning chemicals, puke, dust, tears, sweat…

Her room was on the fourth floor.

He beamed. His tracking magic was utter crap, despite his father and the Argents’ best efforts, but apparently his nose was not.

Kate’s scent wove around the hall like she wasn’t sure which direction her room was in.

Stiles sincerely hoped there weren’t cameras in the hallway; he looked drunk, making circles and sniffing the air.

That actually wasn’t a bad idea, though. If he got caught, he’d just act like he’d been drinking and wandered into the wrong hotel. 

He finally found a room that smelled a lot like her, especially the handle, which was a weird sentence to think. He hovered near it, trying unlocking spells at top speed under his breath. He should’ve thought of the possibility of cameras before, but for now, he tried to make it look like he was trying his key. 

The third unlocking spell he tried worked; it was a mixed bag of German, Latin, and Gaelic. A larcenist named Tilly had taught it to him when he was fourteen.

The door swung inward; he stepped in quickly and shut it behind him. He inhaled deeply.

Kate, magic, frustration, which apparently had a scent, and other various smells, like sweat and other people, that he didn’t want to examine too closely. 

He ventured further in. 

She had two beds; one was made up, the other covered in neat piles of folded clothes. The desk was covered in paperwork of some kind and opened mail. The dresser, when Stiles pulled open the drawers, was filled with herbs and crystals, vials of potions and dry ingredients, knives, rope, and a loaded gun.

Stiles sifted through the mail. She’d told whoever _Marcus_ was to check the invitation; maybe she had one, too. 

Most of the mail consisted of bills or checks, advertisements or whatever else. One hidden under a magazine was in a thick, textured envelope. When his fingers brushed it, a jolt of magic had all the hair on his body standing up straight. 

“Fuck.” He shuddered and picked up the envelope. The seal was broken already. He tipped it over, tapping the bottom until the contents slid out.

A stiff, white piece of stationery hit the pile of mail, face down. Stiles used the envelope to flip it over. 

‘ _Katherine Argent, you are cordially invited to our annual Circle of the Sacred End of Autumn Ball, which will take place on the night of October 20th, starting at 9pm. There will of course be no shifters permitted, nor witches with bonded familiars._ ’

Stiles stopped reading and yanked his phone out. He swiped the camera open, ignoring the texts crowding the screen, and took several full length pictures, making sure to get the entire invitation. He took close ups of the address, name, and date. Another message popped up. He scowled and closed the camera.

Allison had texted. ‘ _ **Kate just left, she said she had plans. You better hurry.**_ ’ Then again, ‘ _ **Stiles, please tell me you’re done.**_ ’

The latest, ‘ _ **She’s gone now. Good luck.**_ ’

Stiles fumbled the invitation back into the envelope and slapped the magazine down on top of it. “Fuck, fuck.” He rushed for the door; he opened it a crack and froze, listening. 

The stairwell door creaked open, then quick, confident footsteps started toward Stiles. 

“ _Fuck,_ ” he mouthed. He glanced around the hall, then stepped out. He could probably make it to the elevator if he just said to hell with it and sprinted. He rubbed his fingers together and looked left. “ _Away,_ ” he muttered.

Magic whisked through the hall.

Kate grunted in surprise.

Stiles held his breath.

Her steps faltered, then stopped. She grumbled to herself and went back into the stairwell. 

Stiles ran for the elevator and jabbed the button enough times to break it. 

He bounced on his toes the whole way down, disgruntling the man riding with him, but he didn’t care. 

The lobby was empty, so Stiles sprinted at the door, then out. His heart felt like it would burst. His jeep was so close…almost…

He flung himself in the driver’s seat, slamming the door and dropping his head on the top curve of the steering wheel, gasping. 

His phone began to ring. He jumped half a mile in the air. He swore and ripped it out of his pocket. “ _What_ Derek?!” he snapped. 

_**BANG BANG BANG!** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more Derek in the next chapter, I promise.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I know it's later than normal, sorry! :D Hope you enjoy! LMK what you think! <3

Derek glowered at him through the window. “Open the door!” His voice came through the phone and from outside.

Stiles dropped the phone. His hands were shaking. “ _No!_ Screw you!” He rubbed his chest, trying to convince his heart to _stay put._ He’d thought that was _Kate_ at his window. 

“Open the door, Stiles!” 

“No! What is _wrong_ with you!”

“What’s wrong with _you_?!”

Stiles looked toward the hotel; Kate was stepping out of the lobby, gaze sweeping the parking lot. “Oh my god, just go! I’ll talk to you later!” 

Derek frowned, following his gaze. His eyes widened. “Let me in!”

“What about your car?”

“I walked,” he muttered. “Let me in.”

Stiles only let him in because Kate was probably the one killing shifters and as mad as he was at Derek, he didn’t want him _dead._

He hopped in the passenger seat. “What are you doing? _Drive._ ”

“The car won’t shift into drive until you buckle,” Stiles snapped. “My dad is a sheriff, my car is covered in road safety spells.” 

Swearing, Derek yanked the seatbelt around and buckled in.

Stiles drove. He didn’t think Kate saw them, much less managed to follow them, but he still took the most convoluted, indirect route toward campus he could find. Once the hotel was several miles behind them, he glanced at Derek. 

“How’d you find me?”

“I can always find you,” he growled. “The bond,” he explained when Stiles looked at him like he was crazy. “I don’t know why or how, I just know I can find you.”

“Oh. That’s…different.”

“Every bond is different.”

Stiles nodded. “Okay, so _why_ did you come find me? Weren’t you supposed to be watching Matt?”

“Yes. But you didn’t answer my text and it was important.” He scowled. “And you went to her hotel.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “So?”

“So that’s dangerous! You didn’t have back up or a way out! If she’d caught you, you’d have been trapped!”

“But I _wasn’t_. What _text_ was so important, Derek?”

Glaring at Stiles, he dragged his phone out and jabbed at the screen. A moment of static, then…

“ _Well, I would take you, but it’s a sort of exclusive party,_ ” Matt’s tinny voice said. “ _It’s invitation only, and if I bring a plus one, they have to be vetted first._ ” 

“ _By who?_ ” another, unrecognizable voice replied. 

“ _Oh, a senior member._ ”

Derek paused the recording. “I think Matt’s going to the same party Kate’s going to on Saturday.”

Stiles tapped his fingers along the top of the steering wheel. “So—so maybe they’re working together.” 

“Maybe.”

He swallowed. “We have to find some proof. Both of them going to a party doesn’t prove anything.”

“Other than sucking up to professors, Matt hasn’t done anything that says he’s involved.”

“Kate has bought blood and met some people, but she never does anything out in the open.” Stiles chewed at his cheek. “I guess if she’s bound a demon, she wouldn’t have to get her hands very dirty. But she’d have to be close by to direct it. Demons are powerful enough to fight at their bonds.”

They were quiet for a few miles. Stiles wasn’t sure where he was going anymore, just that he was still driving and they weren’t fighting. He had a sinking feeling that they were going to have to wait until another shifter fell victim to the killer before they could find out more. That _sucked_ , that wasn’t—

“You should have told me where you were going.”

Stiles laughed. “Um, no. Why?”

“So I could have helped you.”

“With what? I was fine on my own. I didn’t want your help.” 

A sting of hurt zipped across the bond. “ _Why?_ ”

“Because I didn’t want to see you!” Stiles darted a glare at him. “You made me feel like shit, so I didn’t want to see you.”

“I already explained that it was the _timing_ , not the _act_ , Stiles! We were right in the middle of something dangerous, you’d just been through something horrible, it was _stupid_.”

“Oh, _thanks!_ ”

“Stupid of _me!_ ” 

Stiles hit the gas a little too hard at the green light. “Well, you needed the—the release, too! If you didn’t want—”

“I never said I didn’t, I just said that it was the wrong time! Red light,” he barked.

The jeep rocked as Stiles slammed on the brakes. “And what about the right time?” Stiles demanded. 

“What?”

“What if we got the timing right? What then?” His voice was still practically a shout, still angry enough to disregard any nerves.

“I—well—that’s-” Derek sputtered. “You tell me! You’re the one always saying we aren’t friends and that we hate each other!” 

“Well, I want to date you, you ass!”

“I want to date you, you jerk!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!” 

Stiles waited until they hit another red light to turn to Derek, grab his shirt in his fist, and yank him over the gear shift. He kissed him hard, mashing together much like their first kiss. 

Derek sighed and cupped Stiles’s jaw gently enough that his mouth softened. 

Bright green light flashed in the car.

Stiles jerked back and turned back to the road. 

“What was that?”

“Road safety spell.” Stiles cleared his throat. “So—so no guilt or shame this time, right?”

“Right.”

He nodded, biting down on a grin. “Good.”

 

Scott was in the dorm when they arrived. “Hey! Derek, Cora was trying to call you.”

“Is something wrong?”

Scott didn’t look upset or worried. “No, we’re just all going out for dinner and drinks. We were going to invite you both separately, but since you’re here…” His eyes gleamed. “Unless you’d rather be alone.”

“What are you talking about?”

He grinned. “You’re both projecting pretty hard and if I thought your auras were meshing _before…_ ” 

“Oh my god. You’re too nosy for your own good.” Stiles went to his bed and scratched Lemmy’s ears. 

Derek cautiously sat beside him, pleased when their knees pressed together.

“Kira’s coming, and Laura and Galen, Allison and Cora—Laura invited some fourth years, Erica something and her witch, Boyd. She said they’re friends of yours,” Scott said to Derek.

He nodded. “Yeah.” He looked nervous. 

“So you guys are coming?”

“Yep.”

Disbelief flooded from Derek. 

Stiles didn’t look at him. “I think we could all use a distraction. And a group outing sounds safe enough.” 

Derek, understanding, relaxed again. 

Scott nodded. “That’s why we thought of it. We’re meeting them in an hour, if you want to change.” He grinned at Derek. “You can hang around until then if you’d like. I’m sure Stiles won’t mind.” 

Stiles made a face at him. “Stiles _doesn’t_ mind, but Stiles would like to be asked.”

Derek scoffed.

“You’re both the worst.” He got up and went to his closet. “Where are we going for dinner?”

“Allison suggested Buttons.”

“Okay.” He grabbed a clean t-shirt, free of dried panic sweat, and pulled his old one over his head. “Did anyone think to call ahead to let the staff know we’re descending upon them? It’s a big group.”

“Yeah, Laura called them.” 

“Oh, good.” Stiles wandered to the bathroom. It never hurt to reapply the deodorant. 

Scott grinned and bounced on his toes. “It’s going to be so fun.” 

“Yeah.” Stiles caught sight of Derek in the mirror, staring. He grinned and tossed his shirt over his shoulder. “How was the clinic?”

“Slow. People are going home and taking leaves while all this is going on. Which makes sense. We did have one student come in with feathers,” he said thoughtfully. “Oh, on his arms,” he explained in response to both of them staring at him. “He tried advanced transmutation magic _on himself_ and did it wrong.” 

“Ah. Bummer.”

“If he wants to fly so badly, he should bond with a bird shifter.” Derek was trailing his fingers across Stiles’s bed, letting Lemmy chase and pounce on them. It was kind of unbearably cute.

Scott nodded. “I’m still not sure what he was trying to achieve.”

Stiles pulled his shirt on. “Probably just being an idiot. We’ve all done some stupid magic before.”

“True.” 

They met most of the group near the parking lot; Cora informed them that Laura and Galen would be there soon.

“Oh, and we’re trying to take as few cars as possible. Allison’s can seat three in the back.” Cora pointed at Isaac. “You’re with us.”

He smiled shyly. “Okay.”

“The jeep has room for two people in the back.”

“We’ll come,” Erica said; she and Boyd moved to stand beside Derek, who they apparently had _guessed_ was riding with Stiles. 

“Kira and I can ride with Allison, Cora, and Isaac,” Scott said. “That leaves Laura and Galen.”

“Laura can drive my car,” Derek sighed.

Stiles grinned. “I won’t be insulted if you’d rather drive them in your car.”

Derek rolled his eyes and didn’t respond.

Stiles tucked his hands in his pockets. He could hear a commotion somewhere, but he still wasn’t adept enough at picking out sounds to figure out where it was.

Beside him, Derek and Erica were getting tense. 

Boyd looked drawn. He said, “Damn,” under his breath. 

Stiles was cold.

Laura’s face was pallid when she and Galen arrived. She didn’t say anything at first; she just went and swept both Cora and Derek into a hug. She shuddered. 

Galen had a pallor and his hands were trembling. “A second year,” he said shakily. His eyes gleamed with unshed tears. “Rory McKay.”

Stiles flinched. He had Hunting with her.

“She was supposed to start pre-bonding next week,” Derek rasped. “With Brett Carr.”

Galen nodded. “She asked Laura for advice earlier this week. She was a-a wolf shifter.”

Stiles swallowed.

Erica looked toward the police lights. She was gripping Boyd’s hand so tightly her knuckles were stark white.

He didn’t seem to mind.

Laura finally let go and wiped her eyes on her shirt. She cleared her throat and sniffled a couple times. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Go home?” Cora croaked.

“No.” Laura drew her shoulders straight. “We’re still—still going to dinner. We’re going to have drinks and we’re going to spend time away from here.”

Stiles could feel the shock from everyone. He thought about the disgust in Kate’s voice when she spoke of her own niece. “Laura’s right.” He shrugged. “It isn’t like we’re helping by being here. And we’re hungry. Food will be good for us.”

Derek stared at him.

He shrugged.

“Right.” Laura clapped. “Let’s go. Toward the cars. Cora texted me the carpool arrangements. Let’s move it.” She began herding everyone along, since they were too frozen to do it themselves. 

By the time they’d ordered food and drinks—non-alcoholic for Derek, Scott, and Laura, who’d volunteered to be designated drivers—everyone had silently agreed to at least pretend to be normal. 

The tension was heavy. 

“I think we need chips and salsa, too,” Stiles said. “We should get appetizers.”

“Why not?” Laura flagged their waiter down.

“What were you thinking?” Derek asked quietly. “Something freaked you out before we left.”

“Uh, yeah, the _murder._ ”

Derek continued to stare at him.

“If it is…her…I pissed her off,” he admitted. “When I was looking through her room. So if she was mad because I did that, it’s my fa-”

“No it isn’t,” Derek cut in furiously. “Whoever it is was going to kill before we even started looking into it, and whether you pissed anyone off or not, they’d have killed again.”

“What’s going on over there?” Laura called. She smirked. “Are the lovers fighting already?”

“What—how—?”

“Cora told me.”

“And Scott told me.” Cora grinned. “Good to see you two got your heads out of your asses. Tessa was ready to quit potions class to avoid your bickering.”

“We didn’t _bicker._ ”

“No, you just argued over every little thing.” Scott grinned, too.

The waiter brought their drinks. “Your appetizers will be out in a minute.” He set Stiles’s drink next to his hand. “Anything else I can get you?”

“Three more of these?” he muttered, then laughed when Scott snorted.

“He’s kidding, sorry.” Scott smiled winningly until the waiter—whose name Stiles was ashamed to admit he’d forgotten—relaxed and walked away. He turned to Kira.

Stiles took a drink of his beer to avoid Allison trying to catch his eye. He had a feeling she was worried he and Derek had gone to use Kate’s hotel room for sex and even the idea of that was horrifying.

Derek nudged his knee. “It wasn’t your fault,” he murmured.

Stiles smiled helplessly at him.

Even if it wasn’t Stiles’s fault, he still hadn’t found who was doing this. He hadn’t gotten the proof he needed to put a stop to it. A student his age, who had been excited, ready to begin making a bond with a witch, had been murdered. Brutally, Stiles assumed, at least as brutal as Chelsea’s murder. Burns, lacerations. He wondered if she’d screamed.

He finished his beer and ordered another before his food arrived.

“You okay?” Scott leaned across the table to ask, his expression searching. 

“I’m _fine._ I’m great. How’s everyone doing at their jobs? Kira?”

She smiled tentatively. “I’m helping with self-defense classes at this family run gym Allison introduced me to. It’s really fun and rewarding.”

Dinner went…well, it went. Stiles ate his whole personal pizza and drank…maybe a little too much. _Maybe._

“Just hold still,” Derek ordered. “Do you always turn into spaghetti when you drink?”

“ _No._ You’re mean.” Stiles flopped his arm across Derek’s.

Derek grunted. He was currently trying to get Stiles’s drunk ass into his hoodie, so he could be forgiven.

“Oh my god, just throw him in the back,” Erica called, stomping her feet to warm them. “I’m freezing, he’s too sloshed to notice, _let’s go._ ” 

Derek tossed her the keys. “Go start the jeep.”

Stiles turned, watching them leave. “Derek. Derek, I told you _no one_ drives my jeep. No one drives the jeep. ’Cept Scott, and my dad.” 

“She’s not going to drive the jeep. And you were going to let me drive it.”

He clumsily patted Derek’s cheek. “You—are different. I _like_ you. And you’re responsibility.” That wasn’t right. He frowned, confused and sidetracked trying to figure out the right word. 

Derek caught Stiles’s wrist and managed to slide his arm in the hoodie sleeve. “You know you’re going to be cold the whole drive, complaining, so just let me put this on you.”

Stiles went limp. They were just outside the restaurant. He was drunk enough that the street lamps looked bright and pretty, not quite steady, and he felt loose-limbed and happy. 

Derek managed to get him zipped into the hoodie.

Stiles threw his arms around his neck. “Thank you,” he crooned, kissing him sloppily.

Derek shuffled him to the car.

Everyone else had already left; Scott had made Derek promise to get Stiles home safely and quickly before he’d left. 

“Okay, just let me buckle you in and we can go home.” 

In the backseat, Erica snorted. “So does your boyfriend always get sloppy drunk?”

“Fuck off,” Stiles muttered. 

“He’s dealing with a lot right now.” Derek closed Stiles’s door.

When he got in, Stiles patted his thigh. “You’re dealing with a lot too. I’m sorry. I shoulda shared the beer.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Wow. This is touching. Really.”

“Be quiet,” Derek muttered. 

Stiles laughed. It struck him as funny that “be quiet” was just a semi-polite way of saying “shut-up”. 

Before Stiles knew it, they’d dropped Boyd and Erica off and Derek was helping Stiles out of the jeep.

“I’m just going to walk you up and then I’ll head home-”

“No.” Stiles grabbed his shirt and reeled him in so their foreheads were almost touching. “No, you can’t walk home alone, they’re after shifters.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Derek, I’m drunk, not stupid.”

Derek smiled a little. “Okay. I still have to sleep.”

“You can sleep with me.” The drunk haze cleared a little in his immediate mortification. “Wait. That’s not what I meant. Sleep. Only sleep.”

Derek laughed. “Of course only sleep, you dork. You’re drunk.”

“Yeah.” Stiles nodded and thunked their foreheads together. “Good. Come upstairs. We can share my bed. Lemmy can sleep on Scott’s head tonight.”

“Hmm. Okay.” He had to help Stiles up the stairs anyway, and then with the door…and his shoes, so really, it was for the best that he stayed.

And if Stiles passed out cold cuddled up against Derek’s back while he was untying his own shoes, there was no one to see. Scott was fast asleep. He’d never know.


	19. Chapter 19

Stiles dragged his hands through his hair. It was already standing up from the last hundred times he’d done that. “Maybe we can camouflage-”

“That won’t work.”

He glared.

Derek glared back.

It was Saturday. They were in Stiles’s empty dorm, trying and failing to come up with a way to get into the party both Matt and Kate were going to. They only had hours left to figure it out. 

It would’ve been going better if Derek wasn’t insisting on going with to an anti-shifter coven party. Stiles could have, probably, maybe, snuck in unnoticed if he was going alone. They wouldn’t pay too much attention to a witch. Maybe. 

“I’m out of ideas, then.” Stiles dropped onto Scott’s bed. “You come up with something.”

“I already told you my idea.”

He glared at him. “Yeah, and I already told you that we aren’t going to lurk around outside hoping no one has us arrested.” He flopped backwards, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Come up with something else.” 

“I don’t _have_ any other ideas. Even if we could sneak in without an invitation, they’ll notice I’m not a witch, and Matt would recognize us anyway.”

“Which is why _I_ -”

“You aren’t going in alone.”

Stiles didn’t lift his head. “We’re running out of time. Whoever is doing it, they’ll be at that party.”

“How do you sound so _sure?_ We’ve seen that Kate and Matt are both terrible people, but we have no proof that they’re the ones killing people.”

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t know. Call it a gut feeling.”

Derek snorted. “Okay. Is your gut telling you how to get in?”

“No,” he said sourly. “We could use a portal.”

Fear shot through them. “Absolutely not.”

Stiles tilted his head to grin at him. “Aww, did you not like it? Just one and done?”

Derek threw a pillow at him.

“Bully.”

“You went blind last time!”

“Temporarily,” he scoffed. “We traveled a really long distance last time, we have no practice with that.” He stretched until his back popped and sighed, satisfied. “If we went to the party venue and used a portal to get in from just outside, it wouldn’t be that bad. We could go one at a time, too, which would lessen the odds of blowback even further.” 

Derek snorted furiously. “You think they won’t notice two portals opening?”

“Not if we open the portal somewhere discreet.”

He got up and crossed the room. He rounded the side of Scott’s bed so he was looming over Stiles’s head. “Like where?”

“You know, you’re still unfairly attractive, even upside down.” Stiles winked at him.

He rolled his eyes. “Where in a ballroom is discreet enough for us to sneak in via portal?”

“The bathroom, maybe?”

“We’ll give some old guy a heart attack,” he muttered. He glanced down and made a face that looked sort of painful. He bent and kissed the tip of Stiles’s nose, then straightened and walked away.

Stiles stayed down, his face all hot and prickly. They didn’t have time, but if they did, he would be wondering what the _fuck_ that was. He sat up and cleared his throat. “Okay. Give me paper and a pen? We can make a list.” 

Derek sighed and rummaged around Stiles’s desk. “Here. What’re you going to write down? We don’t have a plan.” 

He took the notepad he held out. “I’m _well_ aware that we’re screwed. Pen?”

“Yeah, hold on. Your desk is a _mess._ ” 

“Lecture on organization later, pen now. We only have three hours!”

“Yes, I know.” Derek snatched a pen out of an otherwise empty mug on the window sill. “Why was it in a cup?” He tossed it.

Stiles caught it. He ran his thumb over the logo on the side. He frowned, memory stirring. “Because,” he said slowly, “it was a flower when I put it in there.”

“Okay…?” Derek was the one frowning now.

Stiles dropped the pen and notepad and yanked out his phone. “I think I know how we’re getting in.” He scrolled rapidly through his contacts. “You have to leave, though.”

He looked offended. “Why? How do you think we’re getting in?”

“Just for a little while. Through the front door, that’s how. Find something to wear tonight. It’s black tie.”

“There’s no way we’re-”

Stiles leaped forward, fueled by the excitement of his idea, grabbed Derek by the back of the neck, and kissed him, rough and hungry. “We’re getting in.”

Derek looked dazed. “Ah-huh,” he said, swaying forward.

Stiles grinned and kissed him again, brief and firm. “Go. I’ll let you know when to come get me!”

He lifted a brow, some of the lust clearing from his eyes. “Oh, I’m driving?”

“Well, your dick-mobile is probably a little more suited to a party than my jeep.”

“Yeah, I bet.” He gave Stiles a strange look. “You’re really excited. You aren’t going to do anything dangerous, are you?”

“Nope, promise. At least not without you.” He winked. 

Derek rolled his eyes and backed up a step. “Just be careful with _whatever_ you’re doing.” 

“Yep, of course. Always.” He shooed Derek out. He still had to convince her to help them, and for that, he needed time.

He made the call.

 

The knock came promptly ten minutes later, three firm raps. “This had _better_ be an emergency.” Lydia was dressed in shorts and a tank top, her hair piled artfully on her head as if she’d been working out.

Stiles stepped back to let her in. “It is. Come in.”

She surveyed the room, her haughty expression not faltering in the least. She and Lemmy stared at each other for a full thirty seconds before coming to a silent agreement and avoiding each other. Lydia went to Stiles’s desk; Lemmy went to perch in the bathroom sink. “What’s the emergency?”

Since there wasn’t enough time to persuade her with creative storytelling, Stiles went for the truth: “I need you to transmute something for me. It’s urgent, or I wouldn’t ask.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Really.”

“Yes. It’s also…you also can’t tell anyone.”

“ _Really._ ” 

He nodded. “It’s for your safety.”

She narrowed her eyes.

He held his breath.

She looked vaguely interested, which was what he’d hoped for. “What is it you want me to do?”

He held his phone up. “I need you to swear you won’t tell anyone. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No! The…it’s…” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Whoever’s killing people knows I’ve been looking into the murders and has targeted me.”

“Oh. And Derek Hale.” She eased back, nodding as if he’d just confirmed what she already knew.

“Why—why do you say that?”

She smiled distantly. “What _is_ it, Stiles? I have things to do.”

Stiles turned the picture toward her. “I need you to recreate this invitation for me—with a made up name on it, instead.”

She took the phone. “Where did you find this?” Her mouth pursed in distaste as she read it.

“It doesn’t matter. Will you help me or not? It’s tonight, and this is going to lead us to the killer, I can tell.” He rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. “We have two suspects that we’re pretty sure of.”

Lydia studied the picture for a long moment. “I don’t want to know any more.” She took a steady breath. “But if I can help, I want to. The killer is targeting shifters.” She snapped her gaze up. “I need a piece of paper and more details.”

“Okay.” Stiles grabbed a sheet from his desk. “What details?”

“Color, weight, texture, font. I’ll need to make adjustments as I go to make it believable.” She took the paper.

“How long-”

“You’ll have time.” She looked at the picture.

It took twenty minutes to get it right. Watching the paper shift and change weight and color, the font scribbling across, was surreal. Especially when she had to adjust the font and it disappeared, scrawling across again curlier. Magic regularly achieved impossible feats, but watching transmutation in action was still mind boggling. 

“There.” Lydia handed it to him, satisfied. “Now, if they did any identifying spells on the invitations, I can’t duplicate that, so we’re out of luck.” She shook her head. “They probably did.”

Stiles chewed his cheek. “Okay. Okay, there’s a way past that.” There was a way past every security measure, you just had to find it. 

Tilly had taught him that, too.

Lydia huffed. “Well, you could try arriving late, I suppose. They may not check as thoroughly, although the host will be insulted.”

“I’m not worried about insulting the person throwing this party.” Stiles wrinkled his nose.

“If you insult them, they’ll notice you. You don’t _want_ to be noticed.” She tipped her head. “Try some magic on the invitation. Maybe that will throw them off. Briefly.” She tapped her nails. “Or it’ll alert them if you do the wrong kind of spell.” 

“Maybe.” Stiles would have to look up some identifying spells. Any spells were a better shot than none. “Thank you for your help.”

“I don’t want Jackson to be next.” She cleared her throat. “What’re you wearing to the party?”

“Ah…” Stiles glanced toward his closet. “I’m not sure.”

She looked irritated. “Why not?”

“Because I was more worried about getting _into_ the party.” 

“Do you have _anything_ appropriate for this party?”

“Um…” He grimaced. “I could rent something.” He wondered what time tux rental places closed.

She scoffed and went to his closet. She dug around until she found a plain white t-shirt and some khakis. 

“What-”

“Well, I can’t make something out of nothing, but I _can_ make a tux from this.” She laid them out on Stiles’s bed and studied them critically. “I can make it last until two in the morning.” She flexed her fingers. “Same with the invitation. They’re more complex changes than the rose,” she added. “Smaller things, I can make last a few days.”

“Thank you, Lydia. Seriously.” 

“If the police had made any indication that _they_ could solve this, I wouldn’t. But it seems foolish to rely only on them at this point.” She set her hands on the shirt first. It rippled, losing its shape and becoming nothing first, before it reformed as a crisp white tuxedo shirt. “It says “black tie” on the invitation, so you’re wearing a tux, non-negotiable.” She shook her hands and grabbed the khakis. “Get me something to turn into a jacket,” she snapped.

Stiles lunged for his hoodie on Scott’s desk and held it out.

Lydia reached for it; her forearm was covered in deep purple and blue bruises.

“Whoa! What happened?”

“It’s blowback, _give me the hoodie_.” She snatched it from him. It was a tux jacket before he could pull it back. Bruises bloomed over her inner arm, circling her wrist. “They’ll go away soon. You need shoes.”

“No. I’ll find something.” He held his hands out. “You’ve done enough. Really. Thank you.” 

She frowned at him. “What size shoe do you wear?”

“Why?”

“You can borrow some of Jackson’s.”

“I’d rather go barefoot.”

“And get caught, making all of this for nothing? No. Sit down, tell me your shoe size, and prepare to let me style your hair.” 

He scowled, but did as told.

 

By the time Jackson had arrived—he either knew better than to ask Lydia questions or didn’t want to know—Lydia had applied so much gel to Stiles’s hair that he was afraid it’d never move again.

Lydia took the shoes he’d brought and frowned at him. “What took you so long? These aren’t yours.”

Jackson flushed and scowled. 

Stiles’s grin was wide and demented. He glanced down at the shoes Jackson was wearing.

He had unexpectedly small feet. “They’re Danny’s,” he muttered. He straightened up. “I had to talk to the police about Rory. She’d been seen at our dorm before she died.” 

Stiles jerked to his feet. “What? Why? Who else was questioned?”

Jackson spared him a brief, dismissive glance. “Brett lives in the room across from me,” he told Lydia. “She’d just left when she was killed. They wanted to know if any of us had seen anything.”

Lydia frowned. “She wasn’t killed near your building, though.”

“No.”

Stiles lifted a hand to run through his hair.

Lydia muttered something and his hand froze. “Don’t mess up all that work,” she ordered.

Stiles dropped his arm. Another shifter killed with no witnesses. Matt, Kate, or someone they hadn’t even considered? The thought drove his mood lower. If it was someone they hadn’t even considered, they may have been wasting time with this party.

He bolstered himself. Even if Kate or Matt _weren’t_ involved, there was a good chance that the real killer would be at the party. There was a reason he’d gotten such a strong gut instinct about the party, he was sure of it. His parents had always taught him to trust his gut. He inhaled sharply.

“You’re still going.” Lydia’s voice was tense. “You have to. If you don’t and something else happens, you’ll always wonder.”

“What’s going on?” Jackson pulled off haughty demands almost as well as Lydia. 

“Nothing. We’re going to my room.” She stepped around Scott’s desk chair to get to him. “I’ll tell you later.”

Stiles cleared his throat.

She cast him a sharp, impatient look. “Good _bye_ , Stiles.”

It was strange to see Jackson bend his head toward her, one arm hovering behind her shoulders but not quite touching, mindful of her bruises.

Stiles rubbed his face and wondered if he had time to do some glamours. Just simple ones, to encourage the mind to forget his face, eyes to slip away and skip over him. He sucked in a breath. He’d have to show Derek how to do it, too. He called him. “Do you have a suit for the party?’

“Yes. Hello to you, too.”

“Sorry, hi, okay. Tux?” he pressed.

“Yeah, from my aunt’s wedding.”

“Okay. Come over. We’re going to do some glamours.”

A beat of silence. “Those aren’t infallible.”

“I know, but anything stronger can be detected too easily. Glamours are easier to ignore because lots of people use them.” Stiles lifted Lemmy out of the sink and examined his own reflection. “Please? It’s safer than nothing.”

Derek sighed. “Alright, I’ll be there in a minute.” He hung up.

He set his phone on the counter and poked at his cheek. 

Glamour magic was either flashy beyond belief—fun at parties where murder _wasn’t_ a possibility—or used to downplay features. That kind of glamour wasn’t as well-known as the other. Mostly it was used by criminals scoping marks. Tilly the larcenist had taught him a lot before getting transported to the county prison. 

It was simple magic—Stiles had done glamour work himself as a teenager, pulling pranks. He may have learned…a lot…from Tilly, who he’d met when his dad hadn’t felt comfortable leaving him home alone while he was working. Little did he know that Stiles was making friends with the prisoners. 

He’d learned that _layering_ the glamours was better than just applying a _look over there_ spell, or a blending or camouflage spell. He’d learned that channeling the magic from head to toe was better than focusing on just his face, and that if people didn’t know what to look for, they most likely wouldn’t notice anything was amiss anyway. 

Stiles did several blending in and forgetting glamours, _look over there_ spells, and various others on himself and on the tux Lydia had made. He’d gotten dressed and was scowling at the shoes Jackson brought by the time Derek showed up. It didn’t matter that they weren’t actually Jackson’s, just that he’d brought them for him. He was wondering if he could glamour his regular sneakers instead of wearing the borrowed shoes. 

“I think we should go earl—ahh…” Derek halted at the door, staring.

“Oh, good, you can see past the glamours.” Stiles grinned. “I thought you’d be able to, since you’re my familiar. You can see through my magic.”

“Ah-huh.” He blinked sluggishly. He shook himself and lifted the bag he had over his shoulder. “I’m going to change.”

“After you’re dressed, we need to do some glamours on you.”

“’Kay.” He backed toward the bathroom, his gaze weirdly unwavering.

Stiles leaned back on his elbows, stretching across his bed. He grinned at the spike of desire in the bond. “Really, Derek? A tuxedo? Isn’t that a little-”

“Just _don’t._ ” He slammed the bathroom door, but he wasn’t mad. He was a little turned on, a little afraid, angry, and nervous, but not mad at Stiles. 

Stiles was trying to keep himself calm, too, so he didn’t mind.

Lemmy jumped on Scott’s desk and judged Stiles from afar. 

“Once again, way too observant. If you don’t tell Scott where I went, I’ll give you a ton of treats when I get back.”

Lemmy blinked slowly at him.

“Don’t even play, I _know_ you communicate with him somehow. You tell on me all the time!”

“Are you talking to your cat?” Derek called.

“You should only be worried when I start talking to my dog.”

“You don’t have a dog!”

“Exactly!”

Derek muffled a laugh. 

Lemmy blinked at him again.

“Yeah, sure.” Stiles took his phone out while he was thinking about it. His thumb hovered over the screen, thinking of what to tell him. Thankfully, he had the perfect reason to be out late and ignoring his phone: a shiny, tentative new relationship. He told Scott that he and Derek were going out and would probably stay out pretty late. He grimaced.

It was a little depressing how excited Scott was for Stiles’s “date” with Derek. If only.

The bathroom door opened. “I hate dressing like this.” He stepped out.

Stiles couldn’t decide if he was annoyed or thrilled. “You look like you just stepped off the set of a men’s formal wear commercial,” he complained. “I look like I borrowed my dad’s tux for prom.”

Derek snorted. “No, you don’t. Trust me.” He turned to the mirror and tipped his head this way and that. “How do you do glamours?”

Stiles, wanting to test it, simply thought of the way he’d done his own glamours.

Derek nodded. “Okay. Simple enough.” 

“Remember to layer,” he said casually. Inside, he was fascinated. That was at least twice he’d managed to explain a spell to Derek with just his thoughts. He wanted to try again soon so he could tell if it happened every time or only when they were stressed. 

Magic was all but sparking off of Derek by the time they were getting into the Camaro, which was good, as it would hide the shifter aura. Stiles clutched their fabricated invitation like it was made of gold.

“Alright, so _if_ this doesn’t have the right feel—if there are spells on the legit invitations that’ll give us away, we’re going to have to act fast.”

“What do we do?”

Stiles grimaced. “I’ve been thinking about it. We need a distraction or something. I can’t figure out a spell that’ll work without drawing attention to the fact that we used a spell.” 

“Wouldn’t a basic distraction spell work?”

“No, I don’t think so. Other people would notice immediately.”

Derek sighed quietly. “Okay. What about something subtler?”

He shook his head. “I’m thinking about trying a confusion spell.” He twisted his hands in his lap. “Just a little one, just enough that the person checking the invitations doesn’t realize what’s wrong.”

“Okay.”

“It’s all I’ve got,” he murmured.

“Then we’ll make it work.”

 

The party had valet parking, which Stiles found mildly alarming. If they had to make a quick getaway, what would they do?

Derek had a plan for that. He passed a key to the valet and held a hand out for Stiles. “Don’t worry. I put a tracking spell on the car, and he has my spare key,” he muttered. “I’ve got the main one.”

Stiles nodded, some of his anxiety easing. “Oh, god. If we get found out, you’ll have to run.”

“Why just me?”

“You’re the shifter, it’s you they have it out for. If push comes to shove, we’ll use a portal. The blowback will be worth it,” he added sharply. He squared his shoulders. “Let’s go.”

“Wait.” Derek turned him by the waist. He kissed him, hard and thorough, and stepped back. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Stiles’s hands felt clammy, but Derek didn’t complain when he took one. He could see the security personnel already; he wasn’t sure what he was more nervous about: their invitation or the possible murderer inside. The more immediate danger had his attention for the moment. He just hoped that he could pull off a spell to get them in.  
 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 Chapter 20, one of my favorites! :D LMK what you think!

They weren’t the first to arrive by any means, but there were plenty of people lining up with them, if it could be called a line. They were filing obediently inside as a group, chattering with each other about who was having another affair, who’d bought a sinfully expensive car to get back at their ex, who was going to blow a gasket when they saw who so-and-so was with.

Stiles was eternally grateful to Lydia: no amount of glamours would’ve made his clothes pass in this crowd.

“Invitation, sir?” It was quick and sneaky, or subtle, he guessed, a man in uniform appearing at their side and waiting expectantly.

Derek handed it over, barely glancing at him, perfectly emulating the others around them.

It wasn’t going to work. Stiles’s heart slammed against his ribs as the man’s brows furrowed.

His eyes flicked over the paper, a frown appearing.

Stiles breathed, “ _Anhrefnus_ ,” and prayed.

The consternation on the man’s face faded, replaced by bewilderment. “Here,” he muttered, shoving the invitation back at them.

The chatter around them rose in volume; the movement of the crowd became less orderly and pushier as they all tried to get inside at once.

“What was _that?_ ” Derek whispered against his ear. “Even I felt that.”

Stiles flicked a glance at him. “Chaos,” he mumbled. “It should dilute as everyone spreads out.” He jerked his shoulders. “It’s all I could think of.”

Behind them, the men in uniform were barely glancing at the invitations before shoving them back at the party guests.

“What language was that?”

“I don’t know. Welsh, maybe? I learned it when I was a kid.”

“Who the _hell_ taught a kid a chaos spell?”

Stiles chuckled mirthlessly. “A criminal.” 

They couldn’t discuss it further; they’d entered the main room. Classical music played from a live band, people were walking around with hors d'oeuvres and champagne, still others mingling in clusters. Magic shimmered in the air, weaving in and out of the crystal chandeliers along the ceiling. There were _ice sculptures._

The chaos spell he’d placed over the crowd made it a bit less refined at first, though no one seemed to know why. It made itself known in subtle ways: a dropped glass here, a shove there...if it were maintained the entire party would be in absolute ruin within the hour. Of course, Stiles wouldn't be maintaining it. He had other things to worry about. 

His gaze swept over the room again; plenty of people were glamoured to look younger or thinner or wealthier, but none of them were wearing bloodstained white robes or helpful “’Twas I!” signs. Alas.

He squeezed his fingers briefly around Derek’s wrist. He felt surrounded, and he bet Derek felt just as bad. He was only just realizing how pathetic their plan was. Sure, they got into the party, but what were they going to do? Hover and hope Kate or Matt just _told_ everyone they’d been the ones killing college-age shifters? So they could record it _just in time_? 

“Calm down,” Derek murmured. “You’ll draw attention.”

“What do we _do?_ ”

“Mingle. Get info. Haven’t you ever seen a spy movie?”

“Derek-”

Derek put a hand on his back and propelled him toward a group of people near a table. 

They all had champagne flutes in hand, and barely seemed to notice when they joined them. “I was _floored_ , of course, my own daughter!”

“Oh, teenagers, Margie, they go through phases.” A woman waved away her dramatics. “And at least it’s a flyer. She could be dating a dog.”

Laughter fluttered through the group.

Derek’s jaw flexed.

“True. Oh, there’s a snake boy, too.” Her lip curled in disgust. “Can you imagine?”

Stiles nudged Derek and nodded. “Kate.”

She was holding onto the arm of a tall blond man. 

“Do you see Matt?”

He shook his head. “Come on.” He slipped his arm through Derek’s and pulled him until he began moving.

Kate’s date was telling a story when they got to her little group. She looked unimpressed, which seemed to be spurring him on. 

“I found an artifact that boosts my fire mastery tenfold,” he bragged. “There’s no potion that can achieve _that._ ”

“Where is this artifact?” an older woman asked shrewdly.

“Belize,” he said lightly. “On its way through customs.”

The woman sipped her champagne, her gaze damning. “I very much doubt that, boy. Magical artifacts shipping is touchy as it is.”

Kate patted his arm. “True, Gizela, very true. Customs will take plenty of time making sure it’s safe.”

“And what have you been working on?” Gizela asked, looking coldly amused. “Aside from _helping_ at that shifter school, that is.”

Kate flushed a dull pink. “A potion of my own design,” she said evenly. “I’ve used shifter blood to give it a boost. It works.”

Stiles dug his nails into Derek’s arm when he bared his teeth, rage flooding both of their systems. There was only so much the glamour could hide. 

“How much have you tried? Potions made with blood always backfire.” 

Kate looked furious at the implication.

“I’ve gone further than _any_ of you.”

Stiles stiffened.

Matt had slipped into the group without him noticing. He looked smug and smarmy in his suit. “You’re all cowards. It takes work to get power without giving half of it to an animal.”

Stiles frowned, studying him.

Matt’s aura was…strange, flat and muted gray. It was close to his body, barely interacting with those around him. 

“I’ve done more to get power than any of you,” he scoffed. 

Stiles shot a quick look at Derek; that sounded like Matt admitting to the crimes. 

Kate laughed. “He’s bluffing,” she said into the stunned, uncomfortable silence. “It’s his first time here, he’s young.” She chucked him under the chin and grinned. “Trying to make an impression. Cute.”

Matt’s face turned an unflattering shade of red, but he kept his mouth shut. 

Stiles’s gaze skipped from Kate to Matt. Were they working together? It would certainly explain how Kate had managed to shut him up.

But the first couple incidents had happened before Kate had even arrived. Of course, Matt had been there, and it wasn’t like Kate _couldn’t_ have been in town before Allison knew she was there.

Kate just didn’t seem like the type to have a partner.

Derek made a choking sound.

“Are you alright, son?” an elderly man asked.

“Fine,” he said, strangled. “Thank you. Come on.”

“We should-”

“Now.” He pulled Stiles away from the group, toward an ice sculpture shaped like some famous witch. 

“What, Derek, what’s your problem?” Stiles hissed. “We were getting somewhere!”

Derek spun him around, clamping his hands around his shoulders. “Is that the Runes teacher? Professor Blake?”

It was. She was wearing an ice blue dress, her hair pinned back neatly. She looked ghostly surrounded by people in glittering jewel colors.

“Yes,” Stiles replied slowly. “What’s she doing here? She’s got a familiar.”

“She does?”

“Or she used to.” They watched her for a moment; she never stayed with one group for long, drifting and looking washed out somehow. Her aura was masked, but so were plenty of the others around them.

“That’s weird,” Derek decided. “Why would she be here if-”

She was heading toward them.

“Okay, okay, go. Go now.” Stiles nudged and shoved until Derek got moving.

They re-joined Matt and Kate’s group. Everyone looked bored while Matt bragged about what his magic had achieved.

Stiles sort of wished he didn’t have to be clearheaded for this. He thought Matt’s personality would be a bit more palatable if it were through a haze of alcohol. 

Actually, most of these people with their disdain toward shifters and superiority were hard to stomach. He wasn’t sure how Derek was managing without ripping their faces off.

Matt stepped away from the group, excusing himself politely, just as the band began to play a little louder.

People started pairing off.

“Would you like to dance?” The soft voice had Stiles’s head whipping around. Professor Blake was staring somewhere around Derek’s ear, not quite able to find his face through the glamours making him forgettable. 

“Ah…”

Matt was getting further away, slipping easily through the crowd. 

Stiles elbowed Derek in the ribs. “He’d love to.” 

Derek gaped at him.

Stiles backed up. “I saw a friend of mine, I’m going to say hi. Der—ren would love to dance,” he said again, pointedly. 

Derek glowered at him, but dutifully led Professor Blake to where the other guests were gathering to dance.

Stiles bolted after Matt; he’d gone toward a discreet hallway, probably where the bathrooms were. As he passed a table of refreshments, something hooked around his ankle and yanked. He pitched forward.

A woman caught his arm. “Are you alright?” She pulled him upright easily; she had several inches on him and didn’t seem to notice his weight.

“Oh, yes, thanks. I just caught my foot on…” He looked down. Nothing was around his ankle or near him whatsoever. Someone was trying to stop him from going after Matt.

The woman who’d helped him was already drifting away.

The glamours were still at work.

Stiles all but ran for the hallway. It smelled overwhelmingly sweet and heavy. His borrowed shoes skidded over marbled floor, nearly flinging him into the wall. He saw a door and bolted for it. He pulled up short when he saw legs. 

Matt was collapsed against the wall; he was breathing but his aura was almost nothing, a bare gray outline. There was blood around his mouth, his eyes were partially opened, and he smelled sickeningly like overripe fruit.

Stiles dropped to his knees next to him, reaching to check his pulse. Heat poured off him so powerfully that Stiles jerked his hand back, palm burning. 

A familiar force swept over him. His mouth fell open, breath going leaden in his chest. Heat rolled over his face.

His head snapped up.

A portal was opening in the middle of the hallway, circled with white summoning sigils. Inside was red and yellow, veiny green lines cutting through the sky.

Stiles stood on shaking legs. Dread dropped in his stomach, rooting him in place.

The portal yawned wider.

He stepped forward. He had to close it. He had to be near it to shut it. He forced himself to take another step, and another, until he could feel the heat pouring out of the portal.

The sigils were blazing, so dazzlingly bright that he could hardly look at them. If he could just read them, he could see what the portal was opening to. He squinted and leaned even closer.

Spindly fingers curled on the edge of the portal. Whispers hissed through the air.

Stiles couldn’t breathe. He imagined a voice inside his head, inside _him_ , shushing him. “ _It’s okay, it’s all okay. We are going to have so. Much. Fun._ ” 

He shook his head sharply. It wasn’t there. He was alone in his head. He reached down and drew a protective ward on his leg, burning right through his pants. He didn’t care. He stepped forward. Terror made the edges of his vision black, filled his ears with buzzing. Spasms shot down his calves, the muscles of his shoulders flexing and shifting. He drew a ward on the palm of his hand and took another step closer. He lifted a hand and swiped at the portal sigils.

They crumbled one at a time, counter clockwise around the portal, which was slowly but steadily closing. That was easy.

Something leaped out. It plowed into Stiles’s chest and knocked him to the floor. His head cracked against the marble hard enough to daze him. 

The demi-demon locked its sharp jaws around his face. 

Images ran behind Stiles’s eyes: a little boy sobbing uncontrollably, a girl laughing with blood all down her front, a large demon reprimanding the demi-demon whose memories he was seeing.

Stiles brought his hands up and zapped magic through it.

It flew off, chattering with pain and fury.

Stiles shot up on all fours, gasping and sobbing. His wards had held, it hadn’t gotten in, but it’d _tried_ , and it’d left its greasy psychic fingerprints all over his mind in its wake.

Three more demi-demons had gotten out. He had to catch them, stop them, send them away.

Terror washed over him.

He doubled over as pain seized his muscles; he gasped against the floor. The back of his neck prickled. Shooting pains started in his legs and back, like growing pains multiplied by ten. He groaned, pressing his hand over his face. Claws tipped his fingers and his palm was rough against his face.

Vaguely, through his own terror, he could feel Derek’s worry, his panic when he understood Stiles’s emotions. When he couldn’t find him. 

Stiles’s legs spasmed, shooting out from under him. Something ripped. His eyes rolled in his head.

Ten thin, long fingers curled around his wrist. Ten more grasped his jaw.

His eyes flew open. He didn't know what was happening or why—just that every instinct in him screamed that he had to get as far away as fast as he could. He couldn’t ignore it.

He shook himself violently, dislodging the chittering demi-demon. There was a window at the end of the hall.

Demi-demons smelled like overripe fruit. 

Stiles sailed through the window with a terrific crash. He blinked blood out of his eyes and ran.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe we're finally to this chapter! :D I Love this chapter! I like the next one even more! Of course, I wrote them, so I'm biased x) Hope you enjoy!

Derek found him behind a dumpster. Stiles didn’t know how long it’d been, only that his heart was still pounding, that he couldn’t make himself move.

Derek had stuff in his hands. He stared down at him with such raw relief that he whined, sliding out from behind the dumpster. “I thought—it doesn’t matter.” He passed a hand over his face. “I’m just glad you’re okay. Are you stuck like that?”

Stiles tried to nod, but he supposed it looked more like he was trying to shake off a fly. Glass tinkled to the pavement, freed from the fur on his neck. 

Derek sighed and sat on the ground in front of him. “Okay. Well, after you broke out of the window, everyone ran to investigate. We found Matt and called an ambulance, which he refused, by the way. While they were dealing with him, I finished closing the portal and I saw…” He sighed again. “Saw the demi-demons. I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you. It was like our bond was blocked and I don’t know how that happened. I couldn’t feel you until the dance ended. I’m sorry you were alone with them.” 

Stiles hated his voice like that, sad and sincere, hated that he’d flipped out so badly. He pressed his face against Derek’s shoulder. 

A hand clamped around the scruff of his neck. “You’re alright,” he murmured, squeezing. He inhaled sharply. “I didn’t know how to get rid of the demi-demons, so I…I’m sorry, but I had to open a demon portal.”

Stiles sat down hard and stared at him.

He winced. “Efeni wants you to call him,” he said weakly. He cleared his throat. “He was furious. He managed to get all of the demi-demons back in their…dimension. I didn’t—really do anything.” He rubbed his eye. “So I guess the killer really is Matt. Kate looked _seriously_ freaked out. She’s awful but I don’t think she’s involved.” 

Stiles shuddered and suddenly he was human again, bare ass naked right in the middle of an alley. “Whoa. That didn’t hurt,” he rasped. 

“It’s not supposed to.” Derek passed him his clothes. They’d changed back to a hoodie, t-shirt, and khakis. The shirt was a little ripped, but still wearable.

“Really?” Stiles started pulling the clothes on. “Because it hurt a _lot_ before.” He wasn’t even going to think about the fact that he’d shape shifted for the first time and didn’t get to appreciate it.

“That’s because you were scared and freaking yourself out.”

Stiles zipped the hoodie almost to his chin. Took a breath. Let it out. He was terrified, but there were more important things going on than his cowardice. “One of the demi-demons tried to possess me.”

Derek’s hands twitched, like he’d wanted to grab him but stopped himself. 

“When it did that, my wards were activated, trying to kick it out; it caused some of its memories to…slip into me.”

“Okay…”

“So it’ll know who let it out. I just have to-”

“No.” Derek set his jaw. “No way! You’re terrified, there’s no way!” He glowered when Stiles stared at him. “They’re already gone anyway.”

“Good thing I know who has them.”

“We already know it has to be Matt,” Derek tried. “Why are you-”

“I don’t think it was Matt.” Stiles frowned. “Or not _just_ Matt. He’s got to be involved. Something is _wrong_ with him. But I don’t think he managed that portal.”

“Then let me link with the demon,” he said desperately. “You’re numb right now but I can _feel_ how terrified you actually are.”

“I know. I’m well-aware.” Stiles clenched his fists. “You think I don’t know? This has been my worst nightmare since I was seven!” 

“So let me do it for you!”

He shook his head. “No. I have to do it. _Derek._ ” He smiled wanly at him. “You’re my familiar but I’m still the Summoner. My powers, my blood, my body were _made_ to handle this stuff. You weren’t going to bond with a _Summoner_ if this didn’t happen, I know you didn’t want this-”

“You idiot,” Derek hissed. He dragged him forward by his shirt and kissed him hard. “I wanted you from the start. Just open the fucking portal.” He sat back again.

Stiles took a moment to ponder what _from the start_ meant, before focusing on more important things. 

He opened the portal.

Efeni was waiting for him. “Are you alright?” he barked. 

“Yes,” he said weakly. “I need to talk to one of them.”

“No.”

Stiles was getting tired of people telling him no. “Yes.”

Efeni looked shocked.

Stiles had always been respectful, if not always polite. “Please. It shared memories with me. If I can do that again, I can find out who’s doing this and end it.”

“I won’t let you be possessed, even briefly.” He spoke so fiercely that Stiles wanted to shrink back. 

“That’s fine. I had something else in mind.” He twisted his fingers in his sleeve. “I was thinking of a mind-sharing spell. A link. It wouldn’t be able to go deeper than my memories, and I would get to see who let them out.”

Enfei’s many, many teeth clicked together. “Fine. Is your familiar there?”

Stiles winced. “Ah…yeah. Um, about that-”

“I haven’t spoken to your mother,” he said dryly. “As long as your familiar stays with you, then I will allow you to speak to Dazgoxil.” 

“And—and you’ll stay, too.” He hated how scared he sounded, like a little kid begging his parent to stay in his room until he fell asleep to chase the monsters away.

“Of course.” Several hundred teeth bared in Efeni’s smile. “I would hate for Dazgoxil to get any ideas about escaping punishment.”

Stiles nodded. “What’d he do?”

“Tried to possess you.” Efeni clicked his teeth. “That is a well-known rule here.”

There was another person making insane declarations about him. He didn’t have the energy to wrap his brain around that one, either. “Let’s get this over with.”

“One moment.” Efeni stepped back from the portal.

“Stiles, I can do it,” Derek whispered.

“Stop. Please.” 

He hesitated, then nodded. He moved so he was right behind him, cupping his shoulders.

Stiles let himself sag against him, let himself draw comfort from the curve of his body around him. He hated that he needed it, but couldn’t stop himself.

Efeni returned.

Stiles straightened.

Efeni’s many-fingered hands were clasped tightly around a squirming, squealing demi-demon. He squeezed. “What did I say?” he boomed.

The demi-demon went still. 

Efeni approached the portal. “How close should it be?”

Stiles broke two of the wards bordering the portal. “On my side, at least a little bit.”

Efeni’s disapproval was palpable, but he approached and thrust his hands out.

Dazgoxil screamed as it crossed the warded portal, contracts and bindings scrawling across its leathery blue flesh. 

“You showed me your memories before,” Stiles said in a strong, clear voice.

“ _No!_ ” 

“You’re going to show me again.”

“ **No!** ”

He held his hands up in front of it.

Derek’s thumbs rubbed his shoulders. 

Stiles’s magic—not his boosted spells and shifting, but the core of him, the Summoner in him, his mother’s blood in him—slithered out like a rope. This was something only Summoners could do. Others could learn portals and communication with the dead but this? Sharing thoughts with a demonic entity? Only a Summoner was built for this. 

The gleaming gold-orange magic wrapped around Dazgoxil’s throat. It widened, opening the demi-demon’s eyes and creeping up. 

Dazgoxil began yelling, begging, as the magic split in two and tunneled into its eyes. 

The rope hooked in Stiles’s chest. The link opened. Memories flowed through like a river. 

They were fast and confusing; Dazgoxil could see colors Stiles couldn’t even comprehend, and everything was split between twelve eyes, distorting things until he acclimated. 

Stiles thought, _The portal. Who opened the portal?_

The memories flowed faster until the portal appeared, bright and delicious. Freedom. _Come to me,_ it said, and Dazgoxil had come. It was like a siren song for demi-demons, a doorway to a bright world filled with playthings and things to eat and break and taste. They gathered and they watched. They could see her, sunlight falling across her face. 

“ _Wait,_ ” she said sternly. “ _Wait and when you’ve waited, you’ll come out._ ” 

“ _Out now!_ ” they cried. They could almost feel the coolness of that world, the air and solid ground so unlike that of their own.

“ _Wait,_ ” she commanded. Something _other_ and also familiar backed her words. 

They cringed away. “ _We wait,_ ” they promised. “ _We wait for you._ ”

“ _Good. When it’s time, possess the boy. Take him. Take them both._ ” 

They knew it was outlawed but they agreed. That was the prince’s boy but they wanted out so bad and if they controlled him, he wouldn’t be able to tell. “ _Yes._ ” 

“ _Good._ ” She stepped back and Stiles saw her face.

The connection snapped.

Efeni drew Dazgoxil back in.

Stiles sagged down, held off the ground only by Derek’s hands on his shoulders. His entire body shook. 

“Stiles? Did you—see who it was?”

His mouth worked, but the words wouldn’t come. 

“Boy. Familiar.” Efeni reached out. “He will need time and food, water, before he will be able to communicate.”

“My name is Derek.”

Stiles should’ve said that.

Efeni dipped his head respectfully. “Derek. You protect him. Take him to your meeting place, get him food and water.”

“Yes.”

“Go.” 

“The portal-”

“Close it. Take care of him.”

Derek was quiet and still for a second. “What…are you guys?”

“Stiles is my responsibility,” Efeni said evenly. “That’s what’s important. Take him.”

Stiles tried to tell them to stop talking about him like he wasn’t there, but he couldn’t _speak_ , much less lift his head. 

When Derek picked him up, cradled him to his chest, he closed his eyes.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Posting after midnight because I'm kinda sick (shock, awe, amaze) and probably won't remember to do it tomorrow! <3 Thanks, hope you enjoy!

The entire ride felt like it lasted maybe twenty seconds, but it was near three in the morning when Derek parked the Camaro outside of Irene’s. Stiles felt slow and useless; he was still trying to unbuckle his seatbelt by the time Derek was opening his door for him.

“I’ve got it,” he said gently, reaching around and unbuckling him. He’d thrown his tux jacket in the back at some point and loosed his tie, so he looked less like a runaway groom, but only just.

Stiles had to grip his arm to get out. His legs felt jellied, his spine replaced with an overcooked noodle. He never wanted to feel like this again. This was worse than blowback.

How had Claudia done this _several times?_

Derek led him to a booth. He sat in the same side of the booth as Stiles, mostly holding him upright, and ordered for them: chocolate milk and waffles for Stiles, water, eggs, and toast for himself.

Lisette brought their drinks in the blink of an eye. “Your food will be out in a minute, sugar.” She rubbed Stiles’s shoulder briskly before she walked away.

Derek watched her go with narrowed eyes.

Stiles had more important priorities and fumbled with his straw. Normally he’d forgo the straw entirely, but he didn’t think he could hold his cup steady. He couldn’t even get the straw unwrapped.

“Oh, sorry.” Derek opened it for him. “Do you need anything? Can I…help…in any way?”

Stiles shook his head. Words and vocalization were beyond him at the moment. He felt like he’d been peeled apart and sloppily sewn together again. There were a lot of things he needed to say, but saying them…He’d have to sort through the images anyway, understand what he’d seen before he told Derek. 

“Here you go guys, enjoy.” Lisette set their plates on the table. She looked at Stiles a little strangely. “You okay, sugar?”

“He’s not feeling well,” Derek replied. “Thanks.”

She gave Derek a weird look too before walking away. 

Stiles wanted to joke that she probably thought Derek had taken Stiles hostage, but all he could manage was a soundless laugh. 

It made Derek smile though. He had to help Stiles eat, which was so mortifying he could cry.

Had Claudia needed help the first time she did this? Was she ever so weak? Stiles felt pathetic.

“Not pathetic,” Derek said fiercely.

Stiles wondered if Derek even realized how often he’d read Stiles’s thoughts tonight, answering him before he said anything, reassuring him before he voiced his fears. Probably not.

Stiles settled for twitching his face into something resembling a sneer, hopefully. 

Derek snorted and shoved a piece of waffle into his mouth.

He’d eaten all of his food and most of Derek’s before he managed to speak. “Thank you.” 

Derek jumped. He’d only turned away for a second, likely digging out his wallet to pay. He whipped back around. 

“Thank you,” Stiles repeated.

He nodded slowly, wide eyed. “Are you okay now?”

He considered it. “Getting there. Think I can talk about it.”

“If you’d rather wait…”

Stiles shook his head. 

Derek dropped his gaze. “Was it Matt?”

“No. I think he’s involved somehow but—but the—Dazgoxil never saw him.” Stiles reached for a napkin, twisting it in trembling fingers. “It’s—I don’t—” He sucked in a breath. “It was Professor Blake who opened that portal.” He went on when Derek only stared at him in blank shock, “She opened it during the day. I think she’d guessed we’d follow her.”

He shook his head. “Professor Blake? But she’s so…” He lifted and dropped his hand.

Stiles’s mouth twisted. “Unassuming? Mousy? Forgettable?”

Derek gaped a little. “Oh.”

“Yeah. She’s been using glamours. Probably ones similar to the ones we used tonight.” Stiles stared at the shreds of napkin in his lap. “She looked different in the memory. The demi-demon could either see past her glamours or she let them falter while she was opening the portal.” He swallowed. “And I think she—I’m sorry, I think she managed to block our bond while you were dancing with her.” 

Derek’s face paled.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “She—shouldn’t be able to do that. Only we can manipulate our bond in any way, but there are spells, things outside people can do to make you…numb to it.” He felt awful. He’d sent Derek to dance with the killer. 

She could have killed him, killed them both, because he hadn’t considered the idea that anyone else could use glamours the way he’d used them. 

Derek’s hand settled on Stiles’s wrist, stopping him from shredding the napkin even further. “Don’t feel so bad, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I sent you to-”

“I could’ve said no.”

Stiles shook his head, still swamped with guilt.

A loud scrape made him jump.

Lisette dragged a chair over from the counter and spun it around. She sat in it and grinned between them and Stiles _knew._

Derek frowned a little. “Yes?”

Her grin widened.

“She’s possessed,” Stiles said.

Derek reared back, knocking Stiles into the wall.

“Oh, Der, relax, it’s consensual.” Lisette—or the demon wearing her body—leaned back and crossed her legs, still grinning. “She gets a two month vacation and her terminal illness cured, and I get to eavesdrop on the cutest little detective duo I’ve ever seen. I’m Jack. Or.” She rolled her eyes. “You can call me Jack. The English language is very limiting.” 

Stiles leaned around Derek’s shoulder. “What do you want? Why were you eavesdropping?”

Her eyes gleamed briefly. “Prince Efeni sent me to keep an eye on you.”

Stiles’s jaw clenched. “When?”

“After the fire.”

“Why?”

“Oh, you should be happy. You’re his favorite. And Lisette here was perfect, close to campus, but not breaking the Accords, old enough to know how to draw up a contract and that the Accords still remain unbroken.”

“Why else?” 

She studied him, leaning against Derek’s back because he couldn’t support himself, glaring at her. She shrugged. “Also because my brother is the demon the killer has bound. I wasn’t sure of it until we realized we couldn’t find him.” She wrinkled her nose. “English and its _pronouns,_ ” she muttered. 

“Okay, so now what?”

“Now I know who has him,” she said. “So I go torture his location from her, break the binding-”

“A demon can’t break a binding,” Stiles cut in. “ _And_ you aren’t allowed on school grounds. If you break the Accords, Efeni will be furious.”

“The _prince,_ ” she said pointedly, “wants both of his personal guards _back._ Surely this witch knows demons can’t enter school grounds. What else am I to do?”

“We can find your brother.” Stiles didn’t know why he said it. He was tired. He should leave the rest to Jack, who clearly knew her way around the mortal plane. She wouldn’t have too much trouble cornering Professor Blake off campus somehow. But Professor Blake knew Derek and she knew Stiles. She knew where they lived, who their friends were…she knew too much.

They were already involved. Might as well see it through.

“Oh?”

“You’ll need a Summoner to find a cloaked demon, and a witch to break the binding.” Stiles gestured at himself.

Jack tipped her head. “Alright. We’ll work together. You’ll need my help, too. This witch has a demon’s powers at her disposal. She can force him to attack you, and even Prince Efeni’s wrath can’t protect you from that.”

“I know.”

She smiled. “I’m going to kill her for binding Maros. But we have to unbind him first.”

Stiles nodded. 

“Wouldn’t killing her break the bond?” Derek asked.

Jack scoffed. “No.” 

Something about his question made alarm bells ring in Stiles’s head, but he was too exhausted to figure out why. 

“Great! So dinner was on me, boys. I’ll be in touch.” She stood, then paused. “One more thing. I managed to see through Maros’s eyes when she dropped the spells she was using to hide him. He told me something…strange.”

“Like what?”

Demon faces weren’t made for subtle expressions, which was probably why Jack, wearing Lisette’s body, looked so lost and confused. “The witch controlling him can’t do magic herself.”

Stiles’s jaw felt like it’d come unhinged. “Wha—how—that’s impossible! She’s a witch. At a magical university.” 

Jack held her hands up. “I don’t know.” She winked. “Add it to your list of things to investigate.” When she walked away, it was like someone turned on the sound; the rest of the staff were cleaning and cooking and talking, there was music playing somewhere, a few late night partiers were in booths being drunk and rambunctious, and some travelers with a sleepy toddler and an overexcited child were near them. 

Stiles pressed his fingers into his eyes.

“Come on.” Derek gingerly slid out from under Stiles. “Let’s get out of here.” 

He sighed. “I don’t want to answer Scott’s questions.”

“That’s fine. You can sleep at my dorm. My roommate went home,” he added. “Last week.”

Stiles dropped his hands. “ _What?_ Why have we been using mine then?”

He shrugged. “Come on. You can let Scott know where you are once we get there. Okay?”

He eyed him. “Are you sure?”

He nodded.

Stiles sighed, letting his shoulders droop. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Of course.” Derek helped him stand on shaky legs. He kept his arm around his waist all the way to the car.

Stiles didn’t mind.

 

Derek’s dorm building had been rebuilt already, so they went there. Magic sped construction along pretty well. His room was extremely organized. Stiles was not surprised. 

“You can use Jay’s bed,” he offered. “If you want.” 

Stiles nodded. “Do you want that?”

‘ _No. I want you with me._ ’ Derek’s gaze dropped as soon as he realized the thought had traveled. 

“Good,” Stiles sighed. He let himself tip against Derek’s chest, rubbing his cheek against his shoulder and settling in.

“Are you always this…cuddly?”

If he’d had the energy, he’d have laughed at Derek’s tone, twisting the word _cuddly_ into something offensive. “Yeah.” He leaned away. “You liked it,” he teased, because he could feel it. 

“You know my whole family is full of wolf shifters. We’re huggers.” He took a step back. “But we need to change. Wait here, I’ll get you some sweats.” 

Stiles sat on Derek’s bed while he looked for clothes. The bedspread was navy blue and soft, tucked neatly. The pillows were a bright metallic purple, a pop of color in the otherwise monochromatic room. They were something of a surprise. A quick glance at the other bed revealed the roommate had brown sheets and pillows, so it must’ve been Derek’s choice to put the colorful cases on them. 

Stiles was smiling at them when Derek brought him a pile of sweats. 

“Here, these are…all I have. They might be a little big in some areas.”

Stiles snorted, but swallowed down the jokes. “Thank you. I like your pillows.”

Derek flushed. “They’re nice pillowcases!”

“I wasn’t joking, I like them!” Stiles pulled his shirt off first, since he didn’t have to stand up to do that.

Derek caught his elbow before he could pull the fresh shirt on. “What happened?”

Stiles looked.

Bruises circled his wrist.

“Oh. The demi-demon.”

Derek brushed his thumb over one of the thin bruises. “Why didn’t they heal? You have my healing ability, I’ve seen it.”

“I assume because of the whole creature from another dimension thing. You should see what ghosts can do.” He shook him off gently and pulled the shirt on. 

It slid over his face slowly, giving him a nose-full of Derek’s scent, his laundry soap and a little bit of dust from sitting unused however long. It was a nice smell. Stiles wondered if he’d cared about scents so much before he could borrow Derek’s senses. Probably not. A whiff of blood made him freeze. He lifted a hand and touched the side of his head. He followed from one scab to the next. Twelve. Twelve pinprick scabs on each side of his head from the demi-demon’s teeth.

“—iles?” Derek’s hand landed, feather light, on his shoulder, drawing him back. “Are you okay? What were you doing?”

He swallowed. “Nothing.” He smiled. “I just have to get out of these pants.”

Derek huffed and sat back. He wasn’t fooled, but he was willing to play along if it kept Stiles calm.

Stiles stood and shucked his shoes and pants in one clumsy move. He didn’t really care. Derek had already seen all there was to see, and they were both too tired to care whether he was wearing pants or not. 

Stiles yanked the sweats on. He was annoyed to find they fell past his feet quite a bit, bagging at his hips.

“They’re long on me, too,” Derek admitted. He was amused by Stiles’s frustration. 

“Well, of course they are. We’re the same height.” 

Derek snorted and put his hand out.

Stiles took it and let himself be towed in.

He tugged him into his lap and curled his arms around him. He brushed his lips over the curve of his cheek, the edge of his jaw, the point of his chin.

Stiles sighed and dipped down. Their mouths met finally. It was nice, soft and slow; not pressing for more, just enjoying the closeness. 

Stiles slid his arms around Derek’s waist to get closer; Derek leaned back until they were mostly laying on the bed. Their legs dangled off, but they didn’t care, were too caught up in each other to care. Stiles tucked his head under Derek’s chin and closed his eyes. They fell asleep just like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are typos I will try to find them asap x.x


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I forgot to post at midnight! I have a cold and passed out among my tissues. <3

Stiles woke clamped in Derek’s arms. He was still exhausted, somehow, and overly warm, though that was probably Derek’s doing. He moved his head to try to see Derek’s face, but only managed to rub his cheek along Derek’s chest. 

Derek hummed in his sleep, grip tightening ever so slightly.

Stiles didn’t _want_ to move, but he did have to go to the bathroom, which meant getting up. Especially if Derek kept squeezing him. He unwound his numb arms from Derek’s ribs and shook them. Once the blood was flowing, he reached back to break Derek’s grip on him.

He grumbled and tangled their fingers together.

Stiles laughed. “ _No_ , let go. I have to let Scott know where I am.”

“Mm,” Derek grumbled. “I texted him last night that you were staying over.” His mouth grazed Stiles’s temple, the curve of his cheek, then finally his mouth. “Stay.”

He did, for a few minutes, while they kissed, but— “I really have to pee,” he blurted, rearing back. “Sorry.”

“Oh.” Derek blinked at him, opening his eyes fully for the first time. “Okay.” He released him reluctantly. 

Stiles ducked back in for another kiss before he ran to the bathroom.

Derek’s dorm was set up differently than his; the sink and counter space was all in the same room as the toilet and shower, which must’ve made mornings fun when his roommate was around. 

Stiles borrowed a little bit of mouthwash while he was in there, because as much as Derek had seen him at his worst, morning breath make-outs were a little too much at the moment. 

Derek was sitting up when he left the bathroom. He had his phone and looked annoyed. “Classes are starting again tomorrow.” 

“Oh?”

“Cora told me, and I got an email. Apparently they just want to get us to winter break.”

Stiles nodded. “I guess that makes sense.” He picked at the sweatshirt he was wearing. The sleeves were the right length, but the shoulders sagged on him. He’d put on some muscle since their bonding, but not nearly as much as Derek.

“Are you coming back to bed?” Derek asked, brows arching.

Stiles made a face at him. “I was thinking about it.”

Derek grinned and held his arms out.

Stiles climbed into his lap. “Oh, sorry,” he said when he kneed him in the thigh. He twisted, trying to get situated without injuring him further. 

Derek huffed and lifted him briefly, settling him back down so that he was straddling him. 

Stiles lifted a brow. “Confident, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” 

He laughed. “Okay.” He leaned in to brush his nose against the side of Derek’s, smiling when his eyes closed. He wanted to feel like this a little longer, happy and calm, a low thread of desire winding through both of them. But there were things they needed to do, stuff to discuss. They had to make a plan, figure out the next step. Should they go to the police, or find proof first? Was there-

Derek ran his hands up and down Stiles’s back. “Why don’t you give yourself a break?” he whispered. “You didn’t sleep very long, and you’re worn out from last night. It’ll all still be there in a few hours.”

Stiles sighed and tipped forward, resting their foreheads together. “But if anything else happens now that I know who it is…”

“It’ll still be Blake’s fault and not anything we could have stopped.” Derek rubbed a thumb against his hip in soothing circles. “We can’t just go to the police and expect them to arrest her immediately with no proof.” 

“I know. I just…” He sighed, turning his face away. “Can’t stop worrying.”

“Want me to take your mind off of it?”

He sat back. “Oh, you think you can?”

Derek smirked. “I know I can.” He flipped them over, pinning Stiles under him on the bed.

He arched his brows. “Cocky, aren’t you?” He let out a breathless laugh when Derek pressed his hips into him. “Guess so.”

Derek laughed, too, and he was still laughing when he kissed him again. He framed his face with his hands as they kissed, thumbs brushing over the tops of his cheeks. 

 

After, when Derek was dozing sprawled on his stomach, Stiles crept out of bed. He tiptoed naked toward the mini fridge between the two desks. He winced as the door creaked.

“Where’re you going?” Derek mumbled.

Stiles jumped. “God!”

“Nope. Derek.”

“You’re not funny,” he hissed. “I thought you were sleeping.” 

“Not quite. What are you looking for?”

“Cupcakes or something,” he admitted.

Derek lifted his head. “Cupcakes?”

“Yeah.” Stiles hoped that was the end of it, shuffling his feet awkwardly against the carpet.

“Is there a reason you’re looking for cupcakes?”

“Ummmm. No. I would also take ice cream or pudding, or frosting,” he chattered. 

Derek looked at him strangely. “Why?” He sat up, narrowing his eyes. “You’re _really_ craving it, why?”

“Who can explain cravings, really? It’s nothing, it doesn’t matter. Lay back, I’m going to blow you.”

He scoffed. “You aren’t going to distract me.” He paused. “I’ve got a bar of Godiva chocolate. Caramel filled Godiva chocolate.”

Stiles moaned involuntarily. “Where?”

“Tell me why you want it and you can have it.”

“Or I can give you a mind-blowing orgasm and you can give me the chocolate,” he bargained.

Derek tilted his head. Before Stiles could do a victory dance, he said, “You’re _actually literally craving_ it. What _is_ it?”

Stiles yanked at his hair. “You’re frustrating!” He huffed. “I just—crave sugar or something sweet whenever I, um…”

“Have sex?” Derek prompted.

Stiles’s whole face was melting. “Not just…it’s actually every time…”

A grin lit his face. “You _crave_ sugar every time you _orgasm?_ ” 

“I hate you.”

“That is the best thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Fuck off.” Stiles covered his face. “Where are my clothes? I’m leaving.”

Derek caught him around the waist when he got close enough, dragging him onto the bed and biting the side of his neck. “Don’t leave, I’m not laughing at you.” He buried his face in the crook of Stiles’s neck, quite obviously laughing. “So that-”

“No questions!” Stiles squirmed free. “I don’t know why, yes _every time_ , yes, as long as I can remember, since I was thirteen.”

“Huh. Guess that covers it.” Derek leaned over and yanked open his nightstand. “Here. Will you get back in bed now?”

Stiles glared, but joined him on the bed. “You aren’t allowed to make fun. I was nice about your pillows.”

“Yes, you were.” Derek unwrapped the candy bar.

Enticed by the scent, he scooted closer and finally relaxed. “Okay.” He leaned against Derek’s side and broke a piece of the chocolate. “This is good.”

“Yeah, it’s like seven dollars a bar.”

Stiles smacked his arm. “I didn’t mean that.” He gestured between them. “I meant this. Resting and recharging before tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

“We should make a plan.” He frowned. “I should definitely have a plan before tomorrow,” he mused. “It’s probably-”

Derek went tense beside him. “Why definitely?”

“Because Blake teaches Runes, which is my second class of the day,” Stiles said slowly. “I’ll have to know what we’re going to do about her before I go.”

The bond went red-hot with anger. “Before you _go?_ You’re not going to her _class_ , are you?”

Stiles leaned away. “Uh, yeah.”

“Are you an idiot? She’s _killing_ people and she knows you’re investigating the murders!”

“She doesn’t know we _know_ it’s her, though! So it’ll be suspicious if I don’t go to class. She’ll know for sure!” Stiles waved a hand. “And why would she try anything in front of an entire class? She’d just expose herself, and she doesn’t want that. Obviously. Or she wouldn’t be covering her tracks so well.”

“You’ll be in the same room as her, knowing what she’s done. You’re not a good enough actor to pretend you don’t know.”

“I’ve managed to keep us bonding a secret,” he snapped. 

“It’s dangerous and stupid.”

“Fine!” he shouted. He wished he wasn’t naked for this, and suddenly, with a jolt and a sharp tug on their magic, he was wearing the clothes he’d discarded the night before. He said, “Maybe I should go,” while Derek was still shocked by that. 

“Stiles, don’t,” he began. “You can’t go to her class like-”

“No. You don’t get to tell me what I can and cannot do.” He clambered off the bed, hunting around for his shoes. His hands were shaking. “So I’m going home, I’m getting ready for class tomorrow, and I’m going to make a plan, _alone_ , for how to find out how Blake did this and where she’s keeping the demon.”

“Stiles-”

He had his shoes in hand. “ _What?_ ”

Derek’s expression went blank. “Don’t forget your phone.”

He snatched it from the nightstand and stalked out, slamming the door with a resounding _crack_. He waited until he was outside to put on his borrowed shoes. His wallet was thankfully in his pocket, with his keys. He called Scott.

“ _Hey, man, you okay?_ ” 

No, he was not. He was mad and upset and already wanting to make up with Derek. What he said was, “Yeah, I’m good. I’m on my way home. I figured I’d give you some warning just in case….well, just in case.”

“ _That’s nice of you, but I’m alone,_ ” Scott snorted. 

“Oh. Alright.” Stiles heaved a sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then I should be home in a few.”

Scott was quiet a beat. “ _Alright. I’m making mac’n’cheese and hot dogs. We’re going to watch a movie. Bro night before classes start up again._ ”

Stiles laughed. “Sounds awesome.”

“ _Good. See you in a few!_ ” He hung up.

Stiles glanced back at Derek’s building, snorted, and started walking. 

Scott had already made the mac and cheese when Stiles got to their dorm. He beamed at him, then faltered. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Why?” He was wearing his hoodie, so the bruises were covered, and he’d checked his reflection on the window downstairs before coming up—none of the punctures on his head were visible.

“Your aura’s pretty dim.”

“Oh, that. I didn’t get much sleep.”

Scott grimaced. “Got it. Please spare me the details.” 

“Your aura is particularly glow-y, so how about you keep your details to yourself and I’ll do the same?” Plus, he could smell…things in the room. He was suddenly a lot less grateful for Derek’s sense of smell than he’d ever been.

Scott beamed. “Kira and I hung out all yesterday. It was awesome.”

“Dude, I’m glad.”

“Thanks. I’m glad for you and Derek. Now, let’s watch a scary movie and eat this macaroni before it gets cold.” He passed Stiles a bowl.

As soon as he’d taken a seat on the bed, Lemmy crawled into his lap, demanding attention.

“Oh, yeah. Your other boyfriend missed you. He kept staring at the door all night, waiting, whining.”

“Hmm.” Stiles scratched his ears and muttered, “Tattle-tale,” so Scott couldn’t hear. 

Lemmy purred.

Smug furball. Stiles rubbed under his chin. “What movie are we watching?” he asked.

Scott grinned and fired up Netflix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A more exciting chapter comes forth Tuesday!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I  
> FORGOT  
> TO  
> POST  
> I'M SO SORRY. Erm, Happy Halloween for those who celebrate it. I'm sorry I forgot to post. <3 Please enjoy this late chapter.

Stiles wasn’t looking forward to Potions. Scott walked with him most of the way, but had to split off at the door to go to his Healing class. 

Derek was at his usual seat when Stiles walked in. He looked tired but calm, though he felt wary. His emotions had been tangled and unreadable all night, much like Stiles’s own.

Stiles took a deep breath, scanned the room, and sat next to Derek. He usually sat by Marlena or Tessa, but Marlena wasn’t there, and despite the discomfort, he _needed_ to talk to Derek. “Hey,” he said quietly.

Derek glanced at him. Tension leaked from his shoulders. “Hey.” He moved his hands restlessly across the desk. “I’m sorry about last night. It’s your decision. I know I don’t have the right to order you around.”

Stiles leaned back in his seat. “Well…yeah.”

“I was just worried about you. I shouldn’t have lashed out.”

He nodded. “Okay. I understand.” He took another deep breath. “Thanks.” 

Derek dipped his head too, and turned toward the front.

Professor Granville was at his desk, flipping through a planner furrowed brows. “Alright, today we’re going to study dream quest potions for a bit. If we get through this section, I will have a guest speaker come in to talk about dream and vision quests and how they differ, as well as why the distinction is important.”

Stiles pulled out a notebook while Granville was picking an ingredient to start discussing.

Dream quest potions were interesting, and normally Stiles would’ve been taking keen notes and planning to try one with Scott. Now, he had more important things to concentrate on. Under the guise of taking notes, he let his attention wander, pen moving mindlessly across the page. He had to figure out where Blake was keeping the demon. That was the most pressing detail, as he had to be physically near the demon to break the binding lock. He also had to find out how she’d done it. If she truly had no magic without the demon, how had she bound it? Or even summoned it in the first place? Why would she do any of this in the first place?

Stiles jerked upright, his pen clattering to the floor.

“Yes, Mr. Stilinski?”

“Sorry, professor, hiccups,” he said sheepishly. 

Derek held his pen out to him silently, but his expression was expectant. 

Stiles didn’t know how to communicate to him what he’d thought of, so he just shook his head.

Blake must have used a student to get the demon here. And the student wasn’t a Summoner; it explained the strange ghosts earlier in the year, the ones who had no idea how they’d arrived. They must’ve been pulled through when Blake and her accomplice were trying to open a demon portal with no practice. 

Maybe that’s how Matt was involved. But it didn’t explain his odd aura or what’d happened to him the night of the party. 

Stiles jiggled his foot and traced a ward on his leg. He still had to figure out where the demon was. That was the first step. Break the binding. Once that was done, they could—

Could what? There was still no concrete evidence that Blake was at fault, nothing they could take to the police. They could deliver her to Jack, who most certainly had ways to convince her to confess her crimes to the police. They’d have to break whatever hold she had on Maros first. 

Stiles jumped when they were dismissed. He looked at Derek.

His expression was grave.

“I’ll keep you updated,” he said. He was proud of how steady his voice was.

Derek nodded. 

Scott met Stiles outside of the Runes classroom. “Hey. You okay? You look a little pale.”

“Um, yeah. Might be coming down with something.”

“Oh.” He put a hand on Stiles’s forehead without warning. His palm grew hot briefly. “I don’t feel anything.”

Stiles snorted and pushed his hand away. “I’m fine, it’s probably nothing. Have you seen Arlene?”

“No, not today. Do you think she went home?”

“I don’t…know.” He frowned. “She lives out of state, but I guess she might’ve. I didn’t see Marlena or Tessa last class either.”

“Huh. Isn’t Gus Jepson in this class, too?”

“Yeah…” Stiles looked over Scott’s shoulder into the classroom. He didn’t see Arlene or Gus at any of the desks. He was probably being paranoid; plenty of people had left campus. There was no reason to worry. They’d probably just…gone home while classes were cancelled, and didn’t have time to make it back. 

Scott nudged him and nodded, so Stiles let him tow him to a set of desks near the back.

Stiles took his phone out and sent a message to his entire Summoning class; they had a group chat for assignments and emergencies, so it wasn’t too hard to ask if everyone was okay.

Judith answered immediately that she was fine, but ill with food poisoning; her roommate had made dinner for her the night before and they were both miserable.

Israel and Inez were both at home, and returning the next day. 

No one else answered. 

Professor Blake entered the room. 

Stiles’s head snapped up. He clenched his fingers around the phone. 

Now that he knew she was using glamours, he could see through them easily enough. She no longer looked timid or mousy; instead, she appeared rather smug, like she was getting away with something. 

She glanced at him and curled her lip before telling the class at large to prepare to take notes. 

Stiles put a notebook on his desk. He had no plans to take notes, he just didn’t want to give Blake a reason to pay attention to him. He tried to read her aura, but it was heavily masked. He could try to remove the cloaking, he guessed. He’d never studied the spells to do that, hadn’t been interested. He regretted it now. As hard as he stared at the air around Professor Blake, he couldn’t make anything appear. 

Of course, she was also blocking the sight of Seers around her, both police-trained and otherwise. She could certainly fend off people poking at the cloaks on her aura.

Scott was taking diligent notes next to him. If it was a worry in the future, at least Stiles could borrow his notes. 

Though he wasn’t sure what mid-term procedure was if the professor got arrested for multiple murders. 

“Mr. Stilinski.”

His heart lurched. 

“Please be sure to at _least_ pay attention, if you aren’t going to take notes.” She smirked, tipping her head just so.

Stiles stared at her. “Yes, ma’am,” he said dully. 

She stared back at him for a long, tense moment. She turned back to the rest of the class.

He wondered if he’d have even noticed her comment before he realized she was glamoured. They were designed to let her get away with things like that without notice.

Scott certainly didn’t look like he’d noticed. 

Stiles checked his phone. None of the others had responded yet. Where were they? Were they _trying_ to give him a heart attack? He set it on his leg and looked up. No reason to have her pay _more_ attention to him. He tried not to look directly at her—no one else was—but his gaze kept straying back to her face. He was trying to see someone capable of murder, he guessed, even though he knew people didn’t always broadcast their evil.

She just looked so _normal._ Aside from the smug expression and the dark looks she’d throw his way, there was nothing _that_ odd about her. She didn’t pick on the shifter students in any capacity, she didn’t mutter furiously to herself about how awful they were or how much they deserved to die. 

Stiles flinched slightly every time she looked at him or in his direction; he was being so obvious but he couldn’t help it. He took a deep breath. He focused on Scott’s calm heartbeat for the rest of class. He shouldn’t have come here. What was the point? He had no plan, and he wasn’t learning anything about where the demon was just by sitting here. 

At least from the looks of it, Blake didn’t suspect he knew about her. One upside to the whole stressful ordeal. 

If he’d had skipped the class, he’d have been worried about Scott the whole time, too. 

It seemed to take an eternity to end, though no one else noticed. Scott took his time packing up, so Stiles checked his phone.

Ten more of his classmates had responded: Wayne, Dianna, Jimmy, Janis, Elsie, Carlton, Ora, Brad, Leo, and Clint. So where the hell were Emory, Gus, Tessa, and Arlene? Stiles could understand why Marlena wouldn’t answer him. She was still grieving her girlfriend and maybe angry at Stiles for not telling her himself when he found her. 

Still. She’d have to be _really_ mad not to answer. She knew how anxious Stiles could get. Outside of Scott and Allison, she was his best friend.

“You ready?” Scott knocked on the top of his desk.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” He stood up.

“Maybe you should call out of work tonight,” he said worriedly. “You’ve been kind of pale and spacey since this morning.” 

“Have I?”

“Yes.” Before he could push more, they’d stepped out of the class.

Stiles stopped so suddenly, Blanche ran into his back. “Sorry,” he mumbled, side-stepping. “What are you _doing?_ ” he hissed.

Derek shrugged. “Finishing my draft for that Potions paper.” He carefully closed his notebook and tucked it away, then his pen. He zipped his bag and shouldered it before standing up.

“Have you been out here the whole _time?_ ”

“Yep.”

Scott glanced between them. “I’ll just…go tell Ms. Barlow you two will be late,” he said, and darted off.

“Why?” Stiles moved out of the way, closer to where Derek had apparently been _camping out._ “I don’t need a babysitter, Derek, just like I didn’t need you telling me what to do.”

“I wasn’t _babysitting_ you, I was trying to watch your _back!_ ”

Stiles felt himself deflate. “I-”

“That’s what we’re supposed to _do_ , aren’t we?” he sneered.

“Yeah.” Stiles rubbed his face. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry. Thanks.”

Derek looked surprised. “Yeah. Good.”

He smiled at how unsettled he looked. “Good.” They were just standing there, trying to figure out what to say next, when Professor Blake stepped out of her classroom.

“You’ll be late if you don’t get moving, boys,” she said with a false little smile.

Stiles moved closer to Derek. “Right. Thanks, ma’am.”

She smiled wider.

Derek took Stiles’s elbow and pulled, getting him moving.

He shifted, angling himself so he was between Blake’s gaze and Derek. After all, it was shifters she was killing the most. 

Gen spells was ridiculously mundane. Stiles couldn’t concentrate again. Derek would let him use his notes, probably. Or Scott. 

Matt was in the class. He was in the back, his aura still strange. He wasn’t even pretending to pay attention, but Ms. Barlow had long since given up trying to get his attention.

Stiles wondered what his involvement was. Maybe Professor Blake had used his magic for the binding. But if so, how? And why was it affecting him the way it was?

Matt looked up sharply.

Stiles realized he’d been staring.

Matt flipped him off.

Derek noticed and bared his teeth.

Matt rolled his eyes and went back to staring out the window.

Stiles shook his head. Even a non-Summoner witch could open portals. There was no reason Matt would be worn out magically for so long just from that. At first…maybe. A young witch, unbonded, may end up drained for a day or so after performing that kind of advanced magic outside of their affinity, but _this_ long after? He should’ve been fully recovered.

Stiles dropped his gaze to his desk. Even non-magical humans could hold the magical leash of a trapped demon. They’d have to have been given the power by a witch, but they would be in control of the demon after that.

So why was Matt still drained? If he was involved. He almost certainly was, but there was no proof of that. Which was par for the course. Stiles dropped his head in his hands and yanked at his hair. 

Maybe the binding was different because Blake was a witch with no power of her own? But how had _that_ happened? How would it change the binding anyway?

By the time class let out, Stiles’s head was pounding and he was no closer to figuring out the answers to any of his hundreds of questions than he’d started. 

“We’ll come up with something,” Derek murmured. “Come by my place tonight, we’ll make a plan.”

Stiles nodded, too exhausted to reply.

Matt banged into him from behind. “Do you have a problem, Stilinski?” he demanded. 

“No,” Stiles said flatly. He held onto Derek’s arm, squeezing to remind him not to react. 

“Then why the _fuck_ do you keep staring?” Matt’s eyes were glassy; he had blood on the corner of his mouth. “I could crush you like a bug.”

“Okay, Matt,” he said mockingly. “You work on that. I’ll be heading to phys ed now.”

Matt’s face flushed. He surged forward and shoved Stiles in the chest, knocking him back a couple feet. 

Stiles’s hand convulsed on Derek’s arm, keeping him still. “Right,” he said slowly. “Well, now I’ll be sure to avoid your wrath.”

Matt’s mouth twisted up in a snarl; his eyes grew bloodshot. He lunged again.

Derek’s palm struck his chest.

He bounced back, looking shocked. He snarled, “ _Dis_ ,” and Derek flew back a few feet. He rushed Stiles.

Stiles let him get close, then caught him around the shoulders. He shoved him up against the wall. “You need to chill.”

Matt twisted in his grip. When he couldn’t free himself, he looked stunned at first; his gaze skipped over to Derek, then back to Stiles, who was holding him against the wall with little to no effort.

Stiles let go, stepping back hastily. “Leave us alone.” He rushed to Derek’s side. “Let’s go,” he muttered. 

“Why-”

“I’ll tell you in a minute.”

Scott waited for them at the end of the hall. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just Matt being…Matt.”

“Ugh. Sorry you had to deal with that.”

“Me, too.”

While they were changing into their gym uniforms, Stiles told Derek the bad news. “I think Matt realized about us.”

His brows furrowed. “What do we do?”

Stiles hopped on one foot trying to pull his shoe back on. “I’m going to spy on him to see what he does.”

“Alon-”

“No. Sh.” He slapped Derek’s arm. “You’re going to help me. Just…follow my lead.” Stiles stuffed his wallet and keys in his left pocket, phone in the other. 

Derek looked puzzled.

Stiles lagged behind the group as they made their way out to the gym. The thing about being naturally dramatic was that it really gave you a leg up when you were trying to sell bullshit.

Scott had already made it abundantly clear that Stiles looked like crap today. 

He shuffled along behind Scott and Kira, who were talking about racing each other.

“Look alive, Stilinski!” Coach Grigorescu shouted.

“’Kay,” he responded dully. 

She did a double take. She frowned at him momentarily, then seemed to shake it off. “We’ll start with our warm up jog. You all knew it was coming,” she yelled over the groaning. “Get moving!”

“Stay by me,” Stiles mumbled out of the corner of his mouth. 

Derek nodded warily. He was all kinds of freaked out, but was doing a good job of hiding it. 

Stiles started jogging, slow and uneven. He didn’t miss the way Coach Grigorescu was watching him. Good. He made sure to breathe hard, let his head sag every few steps. He couldn’t fake sweat, but hopefully he looked pathetic enough to be convincing without it.

In the middle of their second lap, Stiles collapsed. The key to falling believably was to _not_ think about how much it would hurt. Really not thinking at all was best. Just _fall._

Stiles fell straight down.

People kept jogging for a few seconds.

Derek dropped to his knees beside him, turning his chin to check his face. “You idiot,” he breathed. “You could’ve broken your nose.”

He let his head roll, eyes fluttering.

“He said he wasn’t feeling well earlier,” Scott said, approaching with Coach G. “He might be sick. He needs to go to the clinic.” 

“Stilinski.” Coach G tapped his cheek. “Come on, get up. Can you walk?”

Stiles opened his eyes. “Huh? Yeah. Yes.” He struggled weakly in Derek’s grip. “Sorry, must’ve tripped.”

Scott looked stern and worried. “No, you did not. You’re _going_ to the clinic to get checked out.” 

Stiles tried to ignore his guilt. It was for his own good that Scott didn’t know what was really going on.

Coach G sighed. “Hale, take him to the clinic. McCall, get back in your place. The jog will go on! Stilinski isn’t participating but the rest of you will. Move it!” She shot them a stern look.

Stiles let Derek help him to his feet, wobbling. He felt bad that Scott was really worried about him, but if he knew what Stiles was up to, he’d try to get involved. This way, he knew—or thought he knew, anyway—where Stiles would be. 

They didn’t run out of the gym, but it was a near thing. “What was _that?_ ” he snapped. He still looked freaked out.

Stiles scoffed. “You think that’s the first time I’ve wanted out of a gym class? Please.” He straightened up. “Okay, so Matt has Conjuration right now. We can start looking there.”

Derek shook his head. “He dropped that class.”

“How do you know?”

“I heard him talking about it when we were doing surveillance.”

Stiles frowned. “So where would he be?”

“Don’t know, but we can find out.”

“How?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “The same way you tracked Kate in the city. By scent?”

“Oh! Right.”

They went back to their Gen spells classroom. Stiles couldn’t really pick out Matt’s scent among the rest, but Derek managed. Stiles refused to be embarrassed; Derek had been doing this a lot longer than him, after all.

Derek led them back past the gym, where they had to crouch because there were windows, and toward the transmutation classrooms. They passed a janitors’ closet and Derek stopped abruptly, putting a hand to Stiles’s chest to halt him. He held his other hand up, a finger to his lips.

Stiles caught his breath to listen.

Around the corner, Matt seethed, “I’m telling you, Stilinski has a familiar.” He paused. “I think it’s Hale.” His heart was pounding like a drum; he wasn’t even trying to disguise it.

“ _Probably. They won’t try anything._ ” Blake’s voice was tinny and hard to hear.

“Why are you so sure?”

“ _Because they don’t know who’s doing it, and they aren’t going to look my way. Maybe yours, because you can’t keep your mouth shut._ ” She snorted. 

Matt was silent for a moment. He bit out, “Where are you? Where’d you go?”

“ _I wanted to go make sure the “package” is still where we put it._ ”

Stiles could almost hear the air quotes. He glanced at Derek, mystified. 

“They aren’t going anywhere,” Matt snapped. “I did everything you said.”

Stiles mouthed, “They?” at Derek.

He shrugged. 

“ _I’m just double checking. Now run along. You have a class, don’t you?_ ” The phone call ended.

Matt snarled in frustration. He panted for a moment, heaving, labored breaths. He started walking.

Stiles backpedaled, hand flapping out behind him. His fingers bumped the custodian closet doorknob. He fumbled it open and grabbed Derek’s shirt, dragging him inside.

Derek shut them in and turned; their chests bumped.

“Sorry,” Stiles whispered. “There’s a supply cart in my way. I can’t move.” 

“It’s fine.” Derek leaned closer, brushing their noses together.

Stiles tipped his head back, lifting his chin so their mouths brushed. “What do you think he meant?”

“What?”

“The phone call. He said _they_ were still where he put them. Plural?” He clenched his hand. “I have a really bad feeling about that.” Like terror and guilt rolled up in foreboding.

“Blake said package. Maybe whatever it is…” He dropped his gaze as he trailed off.

“Package was just a code word.” Stiles pulled his phone out, thumbing the screen. No one else had texted.

Derek tipped his head toward the door. “Sounds like Matt’s gone.”

“Oh. Right.”

They stepped out in the hall again.

Derek’s phone rang. He jumped, looking shocked. “It’s probably Laura or Cora,” he muttered. He took it out and frowned. “Hey, Boyd, what’s-”

“ _I was looking for things about the murderer and I saw you and Stilinski in tuxes,_ ” Boyd interrupted. “ _Then I saw Stiles in class and the vision changed. There are Summoners somewhere, people he knows, and I think they’re in danger. They’re somewhere dark, all tied up._ ” He sounded shaken.

“Who?” Stiles asked dully. “Can he describe at least one of them?”

“ _I heard him. Yeah, the one I saw the best had long dark hair, a woman, darker skin—I think she’s Latina—dark eyes. She had a bright orange hoodie with a beaver on it that said “dam it”._ ”

Stiles closed his eyes. “Marlena.” He’d seen that hoodie too many times to count.

“ _I saw another guy a little bit, short, with spiky blond hair and glasses, blue shirt. There were about five of them, I couldn’t see them all. There was a redhead I think._ ”

“Gus, Arlene.” Stiles rubbed his forehead. “She’s holding them hostage.” 

“Why?”

“ _Who?_ ” Boyd demanded.

“Who—whoever’s doing this. Boyd, thanks, really. I have to get back to-”

“ _Derek, who is it? We can keep an eye out, too. And…Erica, you know?_ ” he mumbled, but Erica still shouted that she didn’t need to be coddled.

Derek looked at Stiles apologetically. “Just stay near each other. It’s…it’s the Runes professor, Blake. Be careful.” He hung up.

Stiles stared at him. “We could’ve asked him if he saw where they were.”

“He didn’t see anything or he would’ve told us.” Derek started texting anyway. “I can get details from him.” 

Stiles pulled on his hair. “That’s why she was so sure we’d back off. Because she has my friends.” He checked his phone again, like they’d miraculously have texted him. 

“All Boyd has is “a warehouse”. There was a box with an address on it, but it might be the wrong-”

“Is it close by?”

Derek nodded.

“We have to check. Please?”

He sighed. “Fine. I’m driving.”

“Alright.” Stiles paused. “Do you have your wallet? Your license?”

He paused. “Shit. No.”

“I guess I’m driving.”

“You brought your wallet?”

“And my keys. I knew I was getting out of that class.” He started walking. “You can navigate.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like this chapter ^^ And look at me, remembering to post. <3

The address _was_ close, like Derek had said—fifteen minutes away. It was pushed up against two other buildings; it was all gray and white, with only one visible door and exactly four windows. Two were up high and one was on either side of the door. 

“If they’re in there,” Stiles said slowly, “they’ll be witnesses to Blake _at least_ abducting them. That’s more than enough for the police to investigate.”

“Once they’re listening, we’ll be able to tell them everything we know.” 

“Right.” 

Derek unbuckled his seatbelt. “Let’s go then.”

Stiles caught his wrist. “What if there are traps?”

“There probably are.” He shrugged. “We’ll get around them. We always do.”

He sighed. They would have to anyway. There was no way he could just leave knowing his friends were in there. “Alright. We’ll do some basic detection spells and work from there.”

“Got it.” He got out of the jeep, staring at the building while he waited for Stiles to join him. “This is a weird place to keep people you’ve kidnapped.”

“Well, it’s empty, and I bet there’s nothing valuable in there. So no one will try to get in, unless they think there’s a reason to go in.” Stiles traced some wards on his leg. “I’ll go first,” he decided. “I have the most practice checking for magic traps and markers.”

“Alright.” He wasn’t thrilled, but he knew Stiles was right. It was nice, not arguing for a change. 

Stiles squeezed his hand gratefully and started toward the door. He hoped this was actually the place in Boyd’s vision and not, say, the place the package had shipped _from_. He flicked his fingers at the door; markers lit up white. He glanced back at Derek, surprised, before muttering a cleansing spell. 

The markers faded as they deactivated.

“No way it was that easy,” he breathed.

“That’s probably just the first layer of security,” Derek told him. “I’m sure she has more.” 

“Right.” He inhaled deeply. “At least we know we’re in the right place.” He shuddered. “Doesn’t look good for the door,” he joked weakly, rubbing his thumb against one of the scorch marks. 

Derek reached around him and opened the door. 

Just inside, there was another trap; it was focused with a test Stiles had taken weeks ago. He swallowed. 

“What?” Derek pressed close to him, responding to his fear.

“She focused these markers with a test—a Runes test.” He looked at the sigils. “She’s either being sloppy or…”

“Or she doesn’t care if we know who she is now.” Derek rubbed his hands up and down Stiles’s arms. “That’s just because she has your friends. She figures it won’t matter if you know or not since she has them. But we’re going to get them back, so it doesn’t matter what she does.” 

“Okay.” He took a bracing breath. “Okay.” He found a pipe next to the door and used that to move the test. 

The circle of markers faded, focus lost.

Just in case, he scratched through some of them with the pipe. He held his breath as they stepped over it. As expected, nothing happened. 

The traps were like bread crumbs; the simplest ones led in circles around the main floor, around and between old, outdated pieces of machinery covered in dust. There were more complicated, intricate spell circles leading toward a stairwell. 

“The basement? Really?” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Is it like…deranged to say I’m almost disappointed at how predictable this is?” 

“Yes. Basement probably keeps sound from escaping, and if anyone _does_ come in, there’s nothing suspicious up here.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He and Derek had to dismantle the trap markers at the top of the stairs together, they were so powerful. 

There were only two more sets of markers on the way down the steps. It was dark, but Stiles could see well enough. He hadn’t quite managed a night vision spell, but Derek’s shifter vision was almost as good as. He didn’t want to try a light spell until he knew they weren’t going to walk into a trap.

He couldn’t hear much beyond his and Derek’s breathing and Derek’s heartbeat, but Blake wouldn’t have trouble soundproofing the basement. 

Exposed pipes ran along the ceiling, snaking over the walls. It smelled damp and closed in the further down they went. 

Stiles couldn’t smell any of his friends. “Do you think-”

“I don’t know.” Derek shook his head. “We’re already here, we might as well be absolutely sure.”

“This could be a decoy location.”

“If it is, you’ll feel better if we’re thorough.”

Stiles couldn’t argue with that, so he fell quiet. 

They reached the bottom and paused. Stiles did another revealing spell. 

Nothing lit up. 

He stepped forward. “Marlena?” he whispered. “Arlene? Gus?”

Derek stuck close behind him. 

“If you can’t talk, knock three times or something,” he called as loudly as he dared. 

They kept moving, deeper into the dark. There were some boxes, mostly pipes going from floor to ceiling. Everything else was dust. 

“Marlena? Arlene? Gus?” Stiles winced and figured… “Emory? Tessa?” 

Something thumped to their left. They flinched.

Stiles caught his breath. 

Two more thumps followed.

He caught Derek’s eye.

“You told them three times,” he breathed. “Maybe answering you?”

Uneasy, Stiles crept toward the sound. He made sure to check for traps every few feet, as they wound their way through boxes and pipe clusters. 

“Hah.” Light blazed.

Stiles threw his hands up, but his eyes were already burning, blinded by spots.

“I’m glad your friend finally got that vision, Mr. Hale. I was concerned I hadn’t sent it strongly enough.”

Derek snarled; he must have tried to swing at her, because he stumbled into Stiles.

“Oh, don’t be like that.”

Stiles’s vision cleared. “Where are they?” He could see her then, standing a few feet away, hand on her hip. 

“They’re well hidden. I think I’ve gone easy on you until now, so here’s a little tip—hostages mean you back off, or someone gets hurt. Perfectly good little witches get hurt.” 

“You don’t-” Derek snarled. 

Blake threw her hands up. 

White flames leaped at them.

They sprang back, but before Stiles could throw a shield up, something flung them apart. 

Stiles slammed into the pipes with a _twang_. He tried to take a breath, but his ribs burned in protest. His vision swam; the basement flickered out of focus. Colors ran together, bleeding like wet paint. Trees formed out of the mess, trees and rain-saturated leaves. 

He froze. 

There was something terrifyingly familiar about the scene. The grass under him smelled wet. He wasn’t supposed to be here, he was supposed to stay with Scott. They were playing in the puddles, and they’d wandered past the yard, but sometimes that was okay as long as they stayed together. 

Scott couldn’t hear the voice like Stiles could. He wanted to splash in the puddles and make mud castles. 

Stiles wanted to find the voice. It was singing. 

“ _Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly. Lavender’s green. When you are king, dilly dilly. I will be queen. Lavender’s green, dilly dilly. Lavender’s red. When I am through, dilly dilly. More blood will be shed._ ” 

He knew he should go back to Scott. He was afraid now. 

The voice began singing about blood and fire and floods. 

“Stop it!” he shouted. 

The singing stopped. “ _Ooh, what’s this? Such a commanding presence, no warding at all._ ”

Fingers smoothed through Stiles’s hair, along the back of his neck, but he couldn’t _see_ anyone.

“ _Awww, cute little Summoner, all alone. It’s okay. I’ll take care of you._ ” Something curled around his jaw, clasping his face tight and lifting him onto his toes. It pried open his mouth and slid inside. It felt like inhaling water, thick and wrong and painful.

“Ah,” he said, holding his hands out to admire them. “Much better.” He flexed his fingers. “It’s so nice and cold here. You know, I could wear you for years, I bet.” He felt his mouth moving—it even felt like he was saying it—but he _wasn’t_ saying those words. “Who would know? Children are hard to predict. Oh, where to _start?_ ” His head whipped around as something ran past. He leaped and pounced. 

The squirrel chittered furiously, clawing and biting at his hands to get away, but he just smiled. He twisted sharply; the crackle and snap of bones was loud over the rain.

_Wait._

It wasn’t a squirrel. Their first kill was a bird, and they snatched it midair. Stiles had realized what was going on then.

He jerked, palms slapping the cement floor of the warehouse. “Sloppy,” he rasped. “That was a dumb mistake, Blake.” He looked up, only to find her gone. 

Derek was a few feet away, cowering against the wall. He was holding his hands over his eyes and whimpering. 

“Derek, snap out of it. It’s just a spell.” He stepped closer; he didn’t understand the spell—maybe it was a curse—and how it was working. Stiles had seen his worst memory, but it wasn’t right, so somehow she’d seen just enough of the memory to create an illusion of it. He shuddered. It’d felt real up until the end, when it deviated. 

“ _Or maybe,_ ” a bone-chillingly familiar voice said, “ _that’s what you were supposed to think._ ” 

He turned, but of course there was no one behind him. The voice was inside his head, most likely part of the curse. 

“ _Are you sure? We had a lot of fun together. Maybe I came back for a chance to wear you again._ ”

He shook his head. “No, Efeni wouldn’t-”

“ _He can’t protect you this time._ ”

His hands lifted against his will, reaching for Derek. He shuffled closer and clamped down on his shoulder. He yanked him around and reached for his throat, fingers twitching as he resisted. Claws slid from his nails. 

“ _Ooh, that’s new. Did you bond with the puppy we’re going to kill? Oh, that’s too bad._ ” She giggled and forced his hands to Derek’s neck. They started to squeeze.

“Wait.” Stiles said it aloud somehow. But… “Demi-demons don’t willingly kill their hosts.” He yanked his hands away. He felt the curse snap like a rubber band. 

Derek surged up, roaring, and slashed at him. Claws raked through his hoodie and t-shirt; it took a stunned, breathless moment for him to realize that he was bleeding, that Derek had clawed open his skin, too. 

He gasped, pressing a hand to the wounds. “Derek!” 

Derek’s eyes wheeled in panic. He swung again and missed, staggering around like he couldn’t see. 

“Oh.” Stiles cringed, lifting his sticky hand away from his chest. The gouges were healing slowly. He waited until Derek stumbled close to him and grabbed his face, holding it between both of his hands. He said, “ _See_ ,” and Derek jumped.

He gasped and jerked away, bringing his hands to his face.

“Blind?” Stiles guessed. 

“Yeah.” He shook his head like he was trying to clear it.

Stiles winced and plucked a tattered piece of shirt off one of the four cuts. They were still bleeding sluggishly and painful.

Derek turned. He paled. He looked at his hand, the blood on his fingertips.

“Don’t. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes it _was_! I panicked and hurt you! You didn’t do that to me!” He looked deranged, half of his face smeared with blood from Stiles’s hand. 

“I did! I almost strangled you! You just didn’t notice. No arguing, we have to catch up to her.” Stiles grabbed his hand and pulled.

“She’s still _here?_ ”

“Yeah. She’ll want to see if we killed each other.” He was certain of that, at least. 

He burst onto the main floor fully healed and ready to fight Blake barehanded. All that power available to her and she goes for mediocre curses? He could hate her just for that. 

“Oh.” She tsked at the sight of him. “I’d hoped you’d kill each other.” She looked at the shreds of Stiles’s shirt. “Well, almost.”

“Shitty magic,” he spat. “I’m embarrassed for you.”

Her face twisted. “Watch the language, Stilinski.”

“You just tried to kill me, I think I’m allowed to drop a few fucking swear words.” 

“Even with a familiar, you’re no match for me.”

“For your pet, you mean,” he sneered. He crept sideways, leading Derek away from the stairs inch by inch while they spoke. “It isn’t your magic.”

“True. I can still use it. And I think-” She flicked her fingers.

Stiles felt the impact like a punch to the gut—he flew off his feet _again_.

Derek snarled.

When Stiles landed, painfully, he saw Derek had rushed at Blake.

“Don’t!” She brought a knife to his throat. She smiled when he froze.

Stiles bared his teeth and tried to get up, only to find himself pinned by some invisible weight. “How’re you using its magic like this?” he called. “The demon isn’t here, but you’re using its magic somehow.” 

“I know plenty of magic tricks you’ve never dreamed of, child.”

“Using a demon’s power from afar is pretty impressive.” He tried kicking his legs, but even they were pinned. He shifted his focus to magic, using any spell he could think of to push at it.

“ _Don’t_ move, canine,” she hissed. 

Derek inhaled sharply. 

Stiles smelled blood. He looked up.

A tiny line of red marred the side of his throat, already healing but warning enough. 

“Now, both of you be quiet. This is good. We can use this as a teaching moment.”

Stiles swallowed; she sounded too gleeful for it to be a good thing. 

“Mr. Hale, cut Stiles off from his magic.”

Fear curled in his belly. Powerless? Stuck _and_ without magic, unable to help either of them?

“No.” Derek glared at her. “Why would I do that? So you can kill him?” He snorted.

“Do it.” She pressed the knife harder against his neck. 

Stiles felt the sting.

“No.” 

“Do it, or I’ll kill you.”

Derek’s gaze didn’t waver. “Fine.”

Stiles closed his eyes. 

Blake began to laugh. “Oh, poor puppy.” She laughed more, unable to control herself. “Oh, you both really rushed into this headlong, didn’t you? Derek, you make such good grades, too.”

“What are you talking about?” he seethed.

“Go ahead, Stiles. Tell him.”

Stiles shook his head, lips pressed together.

Blake shrugged. “Fine.” She scraped the knife gently over the column of Derek’s throat. “The bond is a _true_ bond, puppy. Don’t you remember your vows?” she teased. “You’ll share power, pain, life…” She smiled widely. “Death. You die, your witch dies.”

Derek jerked, staring over at Stiles with horror.

He smiled weakly.

“That’s what’s so unfair, though.” She sounded thoughtful, distracted. “If the witch dies, the familiar walks free. No one has ever conclusively discovered why.”

Stiles stared at Derek. He knew shifters were only warned briefly about the shared death thing, but he’d never expected Derek to have _forgotten._ And Blake was only partially right: there was no firm belief about why the familiars didn’t die when the witch did, but almost all studies and accounts pointed toward the same thing. Shifters could heal from whatever killed their witch. The reverse didn’t usually apply quick enough to save the witch.

“Cut him off, or you’ll both die,” Blake said.

Derek swallowed. 

“Do it,” Stiles ordered. “Just give her what she wants.”

Blake laughed again.

Derek shook his head. “I don’t know how.” He sounded defeated. 

She sneered. “It’s instinctive. All of you know how. You just won’t admit it, because you want our magic, our secrets, all for yourselves.”

“If you hate familiars so much, why teach at _this_ school?” Stiles demanded.

“Cut him off. Where your bond ends, the very place where his magic hits your…essence.” She tipped her head and smiled. “Now you feel it. Keep going, closer to his side of the bond. Cut it off at the root.” 

Stiles tensed. He knew it wasn’t permanent, that Derek could reverse it as soon as they were safe, but everything in him was terrified. This was a horror story young witches heard about but almost never experienced, this was almost more terrifying than her just killing them both.

Derek glanced at Stiles. He was afraid and nearly sick with guilt from what he was about to do. He inhaled and clenched his jaw.

It was quick. One moment, drowning in Derek’s guilt, the next, agony. Like being cut through the middle with a rusty butter knife. He kicked his legs, screaming and sobbing and beating his fists against the floor to _just make it stop._

It seemed endless, an eternity of pain and his own screams. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but—the pain didn’t fade, he just got used to it. He managed to clamp down on the next scream, and the next, blinking open sore, wet eyes. 

Derek looked broken, pale and glazed, turned toward Stiles. 

Blake was grinning madly. Her knife was still at Derek’s throat. “See how it feels? It doesn’t go away, you know. You just get used to it.” 

Stiles was gritting his teeth too hard to answer. He was panting so loud he could barely hear her. 

“Now imagine that _every day_. For over a year.” She pressed her free hand to her chest. “Even with the demon’s magic, I can feel it.”

“Why-” Stiles couldn’t get further, had to clamp his jaw shut again before the question turned into another scream. 

Derek blinked. “Why don’t you break your bond?” he asked dully. He’d plucked the question from Stiles’s thoughts.

She glared at him. “She’s coming back! Do you hear me?! Kali is coming _back_. She’s going to come back and everything will be like it was.” She grabbed a fistful of Derek’s hair. The knife arced. 

Stiles shouted, “ _No!_ ”

Blinding white light filled the room.

Blake’s scream could have shattered glass. 

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the bite of her blade before death. It would be a relief.

Fingers touched his face, and suddenly, the pain ebbed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Derek whispered. He had blood on the side of his neck now, too, not much. Just a little cut that was already healing. “Is it still hurting? I think I put it back, oh god, I’m so sorry.”

“Doesn’t hurt,” Stiles mumbled. “Wha’s going on?”

“Jack is here.”

“And Blake is not,” Jack said sourly. She loomed over them. Now that she wasn’t pretending to be Lisette, she looked different. Her hair was ruthlessly pulled back, face clear of any make up and set in stern, serious lines. “What’s happened to him?” she demanded.

“She made me cut him off from his magic,” Derek rasped. 

“’m fine.” He tried to sit up but found that his bones had turned to jelly. “Ugh. Maybe not.”

Jack studied him. “Alright. Derek, pick him up. We’ll take him somewhere to rest, then we’ll plan.”

Stiles glared at her. “I’m right here.”

“Yes, and you’re exhausted. His Highness will have my head if you die on my watch.” 

Stiles snorted. “He’ll have to get in line,” he muttered, thinking of his mother. 

“The prince waits in no lines,” Jack snapped, looking affronted.

“He was joking,” Derek explained. “He meant Efeni isn’t the only person who will be out for your blood if he dies.”

“What, _you_?”

Stiles closed his eyes. Who knew how long they’d be there arguing? He’d might as well get some rest. That way when they were done, he could walk out on his own.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am, LATE AGAIN. But I promise not to be late any more. I was on vacation in IL and thought I'd have more energy when I returned on Tuesday. Lies.

Stiles didn’t stir the whole way back to campus. Not when Derek took him up to his dorm—going to Stiles's was out of the question, since Scott would most likely be there—and not when he set him carefully on his bed. He tucked his blanket around his shoulders.

His face remained still and pale, his breathing even.

Derek thumbed the curve of his cheek; there were still tear tracks through the dust and dirt that’d gotten all over his face while he’d been on the floor. Screaming like he was being tortured because of what Derek was doing to him. The horror of that moment crashed back over him; he’d never heard someone make a noise like that, raw agony. He’d never wanted to _cause_ a sound like that, especially not from someone he loved.

He jerked his hand way, but decided now was not the time to worry about that.

“He’ll sleep for a while yet.”

Derek turned to glare at Jack.

She didn’t look fazed, probably only because she wasn’t great at reading human facial expressions. “You two can’t do this. You need my help.”

His mouth dropped open before he could stop it. “I thought that’s what you were doing already.”

She smirked. “Not that kind of help.” She tilted her head toward the door.

Derek looked back at Stiles.

Someone knocked violently.

He shot Jack a quelling look before crossing to get it. He paused, rubbing at his face. He’d cleaned off as much of the blood as he could in the jeep, and it mostly looked like dirt now.

Scott took a half step back when the door swung open. “Where’s Stiles?”

“Sleeping.” He couldn’t keep up with Scott: one week he thought Derek was stalking and bullying Stiles, the next he was recruiting him to watch Stiles’s back. As if he had to ask. Now apparently it was back to suspicion. 

“Here, I grabbed your stuff.” He shoved a couple backpacks into Derek’s arms. “Dr. Medina said she never saw him. Did you even take him to the clinic?” He glared into Derek’s face, daring him to lie.

“No. He didn’t want to go, so I brought him back here—sure, come on in,” he muttered as Scott shoved past him. 

“You shouldn’t have listened to him. Always take him to the clinic,” he seethed.

Derek looked over his shoulder; Jack had disappeared somewhere. He swiveled, frowning, but couldn’t see her anywhere. The bathroom door was open. 

Scott went to the bed, crouching beside it so he could examine Stiles himself. His hands settled on the bed beside his arm, gaze tracing from the top of his head to where his feet were covered by the blanket. “What’s all over his face?” he snapped. 

“Dust.”

He looked at him, but he didn’t press. He looked back at Stiles. 

Derek crossed his arms. “I thought he could just use some rest,” he said gruffly. 

“I guess. He doesn’t have a fever.” Scott looked back at him. He frowned. “But it looks like you do.”

“What?”

“Healers can tell temperature spikes by auras—or they can learn to, anyway.” He looked briefly embarrassed. “Yours looks high.” 

“Shifters run hotter than witches,” he muttered. He tossed his book bag on Jay’s unused bed. 

“Right.” Scott continued to frown at him. “I guess.” He looked back at Stiles. “So you guys have been here the whole time?”

The back of Derek’s neck prickled. “No. Stiles wanted to go for a ride.”

“Oh.” Scott’s cheeks flushed, caught. “Right. I thought his jeep was moved.”

_Yeah, I bet._

Stiles mumbled in his sleep and rolled over, closer to the wall. He curled a fist in the pillowcase under his head, snuggling closer to it. 

“When he gets up, can you let him know Allison’s worried and that she wants to have a bro-date soon? Please?”

“Sure.”

Scott stood and looked at him. “Thanks for looking out for him.”

“Yeah—I mean, of course.” He looked at Stiles’s sleeping form and sighed helplessly. 

“Good. I’ll see you guys later.” He paused near the door. “Just…if he goes and does something dangerous…watch his back.”

“He’s not-”

“Please.”

Derek closed his mouth. He nodded. 

“Thanks.” He left, closing the door gently behind him. 

Derek let out a breath. 

Jack appeared next to his desk. “How sweet.”

He swore. “Have you been there the whole time?”

“Yes. Where else would I have gone?” She sat on the chair closest to her.

Derek rubbed his face. “How are we supposed to do this?” He paced the length of the room. “Blake could’ve killed us—the only reason she didn’t was because she was playing with us, and then you showed up. We can’t—we don’t even know where the demon _is_ , or how she uses it without it being there.” He dragged his hands through his hair. “I don’t understand why that’s significant, but Stiles seemed to think it was.” He tripped over a pair of discarded jeans and kicked them, frustrated. 

“What else?” Jack prompted.

“And Stiles—he keeps taking the brunt of it, of everything. He’s taking the risks, the hits, mental and physical. I can’t protect him if he keeps throwing himself at danger without me.” He dug his fingers into his eyes until he saw stars. “I want to help.”

“I can help.” 

“ _How?_ We can’t win and Stiles said a Summoner or—or a witch has to break the bond. We aren’t strong enough to fight past her _to_ the demon-”

Jack smiled. “Sit down. Let me give you a little lesson. We’re in a school, after all.”

“Aren’t you going to get in trouble for that, by the way?”

“Yes. I will survive the punishment.” She looked afraid momentarily, but she blinked it away. 

“What kind of lesson?”

She smiled again. “I’m going to tell you the true history of Summoners, the one the history books hide behind flowery stories of pleasant conversations with the afterlife and solving mysteries for poor, helpless, powerless mortals.” 

Derek sat. He listened. At the end, he was afraid. He looked at Stiles, exhausted and sore because Derek had hurt him. He looked back at Jack and nodded. “Okay. I—I agree.”

She smiled.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TA-HA! I'm on time! :D Look at me go. I can't wait till this whole fic is posted. X)

“I have several complaints,” Stiles mumbled upon waking. He was too hot, he felt like he’d been run over by an eighteen wheeler, and he was still wearing his ripped, bloody shirt. 

Derek was by his side in an instant. “Hey. Scott came over to check on you.”

He blinked blearily at him. “When?”

He smiled. “While you were sleeping.”

Stiles looked around, surprised. “How long was I out?”

“Few hours.” 

“How many is a few?”

“It’s a couple hours after dinner,” he offered meekly. “I brought you some food.”

Stiles sat up with a grunt, kicking the blanket off his legs. “What’d you tell Scott?”

“That we went for a ride and that you didn't want to go to the clinic.” 

“Oh, great. He’s going to lecture me for _days._ ” Stiles rubbed his left eye.

Derek brought over an armful of to-go containers, setting them around him on the bed. “Sorry, but he’d seen that your jeep was moved and I didn’t want to lie to him when he clearly knew we’d left.”

“Ah. Wise choice. He has a way about him,” he mused. “Makes it hard to fib.” He shrugged. 

“I guess.” Derek started popping open containers. “You should eat. You probably need the fuel.” 

He nodded and reached for a biscuit. “So, I take it Jack didn’t miraculously find out the location of…the hostages?” That made it so impersonal, distant. “The hostages” weren’t Stiles’s friends and classmates; they were forgettable extras in the murky background of a movie.

“No, she didn’t. Blake has them well-cloaked.” Derek’s emotions were hard to read, complicated. There was guilt mixed in there, for some reason. “I’m sorry I hurt you.” He sounded so sincere, gaze down on his knees. 

Stiles looked at his chest. The scratches were gone, leaving only his tattered and bloody shirt behind. “Not a big deal, I healed. My gym shirt is toast.” He plucked at it.

“That’s not what I meant.” He took a breath. “I mean about after that. When I cut you off. I’m sorry. I—I want you to know that I’ll never do that to you again.” He held his hand out hesitantly. 

Stiles took it. “I know. Thanks.” He rubbed his cheek against his own shoulder. He didn’t know what else to say. He was trying to forget how it’d felt, so talking about it wasn’t something he wanted to do. Part of him still felt bruised in the center. 

“Go ahead and eat,” Derek said. He withdrew his hand. “I’m going to hunt down the assignments I missed today.” He went to his desk.

Stiles focused on his food. At first glance, it seemed like far too much. Once he started eating, however, he realized he was ravenous. He ate all of it, barely pausing to breathe. By the time he’d finished, Derek had started on some work, not that he seemed to be concentrating very hard; he was worrying about something endlessly. Stiles watched him for a moment.

He’d showered and changed since they’d come back. He hadn’t done anything to his hair, had probably let it air dry if the curl at the back was any indication. He was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, bare feet crossed at the ankles and tucked neatly around the leg of his chair. 

Stiles’s heart fluttered. His eyes widened. “So!” he said loudly. “Where’d Jack go? Are we meeting her somewhere to make a plan? Should we consult her over the phone?” He laughed. 

Derek turned. His face was sort of blank. “Oh, she said she’d be in contact, but she had to go.”

“Go?” Stiles lifted his brows. 

“Yeah, she had to leave.” He was hiding something. He felt nervous. 

“To leave…” His eyes widened. “Here? She was here? On campus?”

He nodded warily.

“Oh, man, she’s going to be in so much trouble.” He bit at his thumbnail. “Maybe I should contact Efeni and let him know it was my fault she came onto school grounds.” 

“No.” Derek shook his head. “She said it would be fine since Lisette isn’t a student.” He moved his shoulders. “Besides, I have a lot to tell you.” 

“Okay.” Stiles pulled his ripped shirt over his head. He wrinkled his nose at it and set it aside. He’d throw it out later. He looked up at Derek, who was watching him.

“You were asleep for a long time,” he said self-consciously. “So.” He cleared his throat. “There are some old, old rituals involving demons. I think I know how and why Matt is involved.”

“What, really?” He leaped to his feet in his excitement. “How?” He tipped back onto the bed when Derek gestured at him.

“Jack told me the ritual is basically summoning and binding—heavy duty stuff, but easy enough to find—and then…well, they bound the demon to Blake, sure, but they _sealed_ it inside of Matt.”

Stiles’s brows drew together. “Matt isn’t possessed.”

“But he doesn’t have to be,” Derek said animatedly. “He’s basically carrying the demon around beside his soul. It boosts his magic when it’s there. When Blake is using it, it draws on the demon, ripping it out of him enough that she can use it. It’ll be taking a toll on him; he’s basically a living lockbox.” 

Stiles lifted his hands, thrilled. “Which would explain why he’s so drained. That’s awesome! Wow, you guys found all of that out while I was sleeping?” He didn’t want to sound jealous, but—he was usually the one to figure things out. “That’s amazing!” It was. It was great that they were getting answers. 

“Thanks. I wouldn’t have even known about it if it wasn’t for Jack’s help.” 

Stiles felt bad for being _slightly_ disappointed that he hadn’t found the answers himself, so he got up and put his arms around Derek’s neck. “You guys did all the work without me.” He nuzzled against his cheek.

Derek pulled him into his lap, winding his arms around him, too. “You needed a break.” 

He rearranged himself slightly, stroking his fingers through Derek’s hair. “Thanks.” He rested his cheek on Derek’s shoulder. “So, now that we know—or we think we know—where the demon is, the next step is getting close enough to break the seal _and_ the binding.” 

“I have an idea about that, too.”

He leaned back to look into his face. “Really?”

“Yes.” He laughed almost nervously. “You were asleep all day.” 

“Okay…”

“Okay. So I was thinking, even if she can use the demon’s powers from afar, Blake would still have to be _somewhat_ close to it to use it, right?”

“From what I know, yes. But I didn’t even know she could use its powers the way she has been anyway, so I guess I don’t know anything.”

Derek squeezed him. “That’s not true.”

“Thanks.” He yawned. “I guess we have to find a way to get them both in the same place so we can break the bond.”

“Blake will want to eliminate us,” he said. “We know she’s the one killing people; she has to make sure we don’t tell the police. Even if we have no proof, they’d investigate a little bit.”

“Right,” he murmured. 

“If we provoke her, she’ll try to get you to her.”

“Okay…” 

“So, we’ll let her. Then Matt will be close by, so we’ll have to lure him close enough to break the seal and binding.” He straightened his shoulders. “Basically, let Blake “lure” you somewhere, then we’ll lure Matt to the same place, break the binding, and let Jack take care of Blake.” 

Stiles nodded. “Wow. Okay.”

“What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.” He squirmed free and pulled a hand through his hair. “I’m just not used to…not being in charge of the plan.” He was always the planner. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Derek stood. “We should get you a change of clothes.”

“How do we provoke her?” he blurted. “I want to do this as quickly as possible, so we can get my friends back.” He twisted his fingers in the hem of his shorts. 

Derek watched his face for a second. “We can do it tomorrow. I think you should call one of the officers that’s investigating the murders, one that gave you their card.”

“Why not another teacher?”

“Because if Blake sees you speaking to a cop, she’ll get scared.”

He tugged at his shorts nervously. “So, can’t we do this tonight?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said, just this side of cautious. “You’re still drained, and if we have you talking to the cop during the day, more people will see you, even if Blake doesn’t. Word will get around…”

“Right.” He rubbed his face. “I don’t to wait that long.”

“I know. But…” Derek grimaced.

“What?”

He sighed. “But your friends aren’t any good as leverage to her if they’re dead.” He was ashamed saying it. “So at least there’s that,” he said hoarsely. 

“I guess.” He crossed his arms. “It’s not much of a comfort.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“How will we get Matt to come to us?” he asked, turning his head. “Blake will probably tell him to stay away no matter what.” Stiles scratched his arm and paced. “I guess we could tell him the truth—if he doesn’t have the demon removed, he’s going to die. That’d motivate anyone, I think.”

“Maybe.” Derek turned and grabbed an abandoned sweater off his desk. He tossed it.

Stiles caught it. “Thanks.” He glanced around. “Is my phone here somewhere?” 

“Nightstand.”

He picked it up; he felt exhausted just seeing all the messages. Even Professor Eason had emailed him asking if he was alright. “Do you have any ideas you came up with while I was out?”

Derek was quiet a beat, maybe reading his emotions through the bond the way he did to him. “About Matt, no. I’m not sure how best to get him in the same place as Blake.” 

He nodded. “Right.” He pulled the sweater on and sat on the bed. He needed to answer his father’s text before he got freaked out and flew down. It was just a checking in text, so Stiles gave a vague, cheerful response. He answered Allison next, then Scott, and everyone else could wait. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “I don’t know how to get Matt to meet us. We could try a burner phone…” He stopped, frowning. “Or we could use magic.”

“In what way?”

“Create an illusion? Make him think it’s Blake calling for him? He won’t be able to tell the difference while she’s using the demon, he’ll be too weak, like he was at the party.” Stiles’s fingers flew over his phone. “I’m going to search for illusion spells.”

“Okay. Good idea.”

Stiles lifted his gaze. He didn’t want to be weird, but… _Derek_ was acting weird. “You’re pretty hands-off right now. Aren’t you going to tell me how I should word my search, or what kind of spell to look for?”

He lifted a brow. “No. Aren’t you the expert on researching weird spells?”

“Hmph.” Stiles looked at his phone again. “So, Jack didn’t have any ideas about how to get Matt there?”

“No. We thought we’d have to physically drag him there.” 

“Huh.” He thumbed the screen. 

“Anything useful?”

“Eh, kind of. Several different spells that seem like they’d work, but none of them are backed up with actual proof of their effectiveness so far.” He looked some more. “Huh.”

“What?”

“There’s an inactive sigil and spell combo. It’s complicated, but looks doable. We’d have to get close to Matt first.” 

“When you’re talking to the police officer, I can do it. What’s the sigil?”

Stiles eyed him. He wanted to ask where all this confidence had come from, but he’d known before that Derek could get arrogant occasionally. Maybe Jack’s timely arrival earlier had given him a boost. “Here, I’ll draw it for you.” He looked around for some paper.

Derek kept a small notepad and a pen on his nightstand. 

Stiles didn’t know why he was surprised. He grabbed the pen. The sigil itself was easy enough to draw: quick, curved lines criss-crossing in the center. It was the matching spell that was complicated. 

Mixed Welsh, Gaelic, and Latin, it was enough to trip anyone up. It had to be spoken quickly and evenly, with your intent clear in the front of your mind. Stiles would have to actively concentrate on it while he said the spell.

“That doesn’t look too bad.”

“It isn’t.” Stiles cleared his throat. “You practice the sigil, I’ll write out the parameters of the spell so we can have that part ready, too.” He held out the drawing.

“Okay.” Derek sat next to him on the bed, their legs pressed together along the thigh. He felt warmer than usual, burning a line of heat through Stiles’s shorts.

Stiles blinked at his blank paper for a few seconds, trying to focus. “Were you eating fruit?” he asked. He shifted in place. 

There was a pause. “Oh, yeah. While you were sleeping I had some apple slices.” 

“Oh.” He forced his attention back to the paper. He tapped his phone screen to wake it up and began copying down the spell. He’d have to outline a script of sorts, something for him to focus on, so the spell would work. From his understanding, it would project an image to whoever bore the sigil, and it would show the person whatever the caster was thinking. It had been used a long time ago to share stories, before movies had been a thing.

Stiles quickly outlined what he needed Matt to see and hear.

“We should practice it before we use it,” Derek suggested. “That way we know how it’ll work.”

“Okay. But you can see through our magic—like with the glamours. I’m not sure if this will work the same or not.”

“If it doesn’t work on us, we can ask Boyd and Erica for help. They already basically know what’s going on anyway.” 

He nodded. “Okay. Back up plans are good.”

“What kind of potion does this need?” He tapped his practice drawings of the sigil.

“From what I can tell just an average sigil potion, like the ones we use in class.” 

Derek nodded and got up. “How does the spell work?”

“Uh, I have to say the chant and think about what I want the receiver to see, um, in detail.”

“What’re you going to have me see?” He dug around his desk drawers. 

Stiles watched him. “I don’t know.”

“Should we just practice what you’re going to show Matt?”

He winced. “No, I don’t think so.” He didn’t want to imagine Blake in this room, or anywhere near them.

Derek straightened. “Okay. Then whatever you want to do is good.” He had a jar in hand.

“Where’d you get that?”

He tilted it; the crushed up crystals swirled in glittery waves along the side. “I made it, when we first bonded. For practice.” He shrugged. “So, this is supposed to be done barehanded, right?”

“Ah…yeah. Yes.” Stiles held his hand up. “I’m going to practice the chant a few times before we start.”

“Good idea.”

He took his time; one wrong pronunciation could ruin the spell, or worse, change it and cause it to blow up in their faces. He stumbled a few times, backtracking and taking even breaths so he didn’t mess up further. It was a good half hour before he could recite it straight through without messing up. He had good incentive: Derek would give him a light kiss every time he got it right, which also helped him to relax. 

Because sure, no big deal. They were going to have a big showdown with a killer who had already bested them once; everyone did that on Tuesday nights. 

“Ready?”

“Yep.” Derek showed him the sigil drawn on his arm. 

Stiles nodded and swallowed. He planned on making Derek see a favorite scene from the new Power Rangers movie; he tried to keep it in his mind as he chanted, but his thoughts kept wandering: focusing on the way he smelled, how he was giving off so much heat Stiles could just melt into his arms, how he looked so cuddly and comfortable with Stiles in his space. 

Derek gasped softly, a sound Stiles had _definitely_ heard before. 

When he looked, Derek’s face was flushed, eyes focused on some middle distance—the illusion.

His mouth was parted, eyes heavy-lidded with want. “We’re supposed to be practicing the spell,” he breathed. His voice cracked. 

Stiles imagined licking at and nuzzling his throat; he grinned when Derek’s head fell back, hands clenching on his thighs. He stopped chanting and reached forward, swiping a finger through the paint on Derek’s arm. 

He jumped. “Oh.” 

“Well, it looked like you believed it was real.” Stiles’s gaze flicked down. He smirked.

Derek scowled. “It works,” he muttered. 

“Yeah, but we have another problem now. I intended to show you a scene from Power Rangers, not that. I kept getting distracted.”

“So?”

“So what if I get distracted tomorrow?” he demanded.

Derek tipped his head. It looked…strange, like he was listening to someone shorter than him whispering. “I could tell you what you need to be picturing while you’re chanting.” 

“That might mess me up,” he hedged. “It’s always a tossup. Sometimes I can concentrate just fine on two or more things at once, or sometimes one thing is so distracting I can’t focus at all.”

“Then let’s practice. You do the chant, and I’ll read out what you need to picture.” 

Stiles looked at the outline he’d written. He sighed and handed it over. “Fine.”

Derek looked it over. “Sounds good.” 

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Start when I start, okay?” He cleared his throat, took a breath, and began chanting. It only took a couples seconds…“Wait, stop. That’s too loud, you’re distracting me from the chant.”

Derek hesitated. “Alright.” He moved closer, brushing their cheeks together affectionately before sitting back. He started reading again, using a neutral, even tone, low enough that it wasn’t distracting but also wasn’t quite a whisper. 

Stiles began chanting again. They got it right, and by the third read-through, Stiles felt it all click. He let out a breath. “That’s probably as ready as I’m going to get.”

“You did great. It’s going to work.” Derek cupped his hand over the back of his neck.

Stiles leaned into him, turning so their mouths lined up. “I guess we should get to bed,” he whispered. 

“Are you tired?”

“Yeah.” 

“Then we should sleep. Big day tomorrow.” He tipped his chin just a little; their lips brushed with every word.

“The biggest.” He swallowed.

“Yes.” He pressed their mouths together, brief and chaste.

Stiles pulled him back, keeping his fist clenched in his shirt. 

Derek’s hand slipped from his neck down to his shoulder, then to his waist. 

They ended up laying side by side, kissing languidly. Stiles couldn’t stop scratching his nails gently on the back of Derek’s neck, because every time he did, Derek would let out a breathy little sound and kiss him harder. 

Stiles slid his hand to Derek’s waistband; he froze when he pulled back. “Sorry,” he whispered, backing away.

“No, it’s okay. Just this,” he sighed, bringing their mouths together again. 

Stiles was fine with that. He didn’t know when, exactly, they stopped kissing, only that he was drifting off, cradled in Derek’s arms. He was drifting rapidly toward sleep; Derek was even more like a furnace than usual, and it was impossible to resist. Stiles was conscious long enough to wonder if shifters could get fevers, and then he was out.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ON TIME AGAIN look at me go 
> 
> I love and appreciate all of your comments so much, they make me so happy. Thank you. <3 <3

Officer Hanson was friendly when Stiles called him the next morning. He remembered Stiles as Sheriff John Stilinski’s son, the one who’d been helping people get out of the flaming dorm. He was pleasantly surprised to be hearing from him, although when Stiles mentioned he needed to talk to him about the case, he clammed up a bit. 

Thankfully, Stiles didn’t want information _from_ him; he was a lot more amicable to meeting up when Stiles told him he had to tell him some things. He promised to meet Stiles by noon, which was fine.

He was going to play the sick card just a little longer and skip his classes. He and Derek went to his dorm so he could get some clean clothes right after classes started. “I want to shower, too,” he said, reaching toward the door with his key in hand. “I feel gross, and-” The door swung open. He leaped back with a shout. “Oh—Scott!” He cast a quick, frantic glance at Derek. “Hey. I didn’t expect you home.”

“Clearly.” He stepped back a little. “Come in. Isn’t that what you were planning to do?” he asked, brows lifting when Stiles stepped back instead of forward. 

“Uh-huh. I need clean clothes.”

“Right.” 

Stiles, trapped, stepped past him cautiously. He froze.

Allison waved. She was sitting at his desk, looking grim. “I think you should tell us what’s going on.” 

“I’m skipping class today,” he said casually. “I’m going to spend all day with Derek.”

“Doing what?” she asked patiently. 

He leered at her.

Scott groaned and said, “Okay, no-”

“Scott,” Allison snapped. “Don’t be immature. He’s trying to distract us.” Her gaze flashed back over to Stiles. “What’s _really_ going on? We’re your friends. We’re worried about you. And don’t go slinking out of that door, Derek Hale. I’d just have to get Cora in on this.”

Derek sighed and stepped into the room.

“Good. Close the door, Scott.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t know whether to be mad or worried, so we’ll start over: what’s going on, and why are you skipping class?”

“You two are skipping class, too,” he muttered.

Her brows arched. “Because we’re _worried_ about you. Scott told me you collapsed in Phys ed yesterday.”

Stiles winced. “I was just tired.”

“You’ve been acting strange for weeks, Stiles. You keep ending up at crime scenes-”

“Pft, please, like that’s new.”

She glared at him. “Tell us the truth: are you trying to catch the murderer by yourself?”

He glanced back at Derek and made himself laugh. “Yeah, sure, with all of my extensive investigative training and knowledge of violent crimes, I’m going to stop the killer all by myself.” He scoffed.

Allison didn’t look amused or fooled. “You know enough,” she said flatly. 

“I’m-”

“We’re talking to a police officer at noon,” Derek said.

She looked at him sharply. “What?”

“That’s why we’re skipping class.” He shot Stiles a frustrated look, though his emotions felt calm. “We’d might as well tell them.” He looked at Allison, then at Scott. “We _were_ investigating old crime scenes, and we think we learned new information, we think we saw something important. So we called one of the investigating officers.” 

Catching on, Stiles said, “We’re going to tell him everything we know.” He shuffled his feet. “I wanted to keep you guys out of it just in case.”

“Just in case what?”

“In case they tried to come after us like they did with Derek,” Scott said. “Right?”

“What happened to Derek?” Allison straightened. “Were you hurt? Does Cora know?”

“No-”

“Yes,” Scott cut in. “Show her your arm. I know it’s still there, I just saw it yesterday in the gym.”

Derek scowled.

“Just show her,” Stiles mumbled.

He shoved up the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “It’s going away.” Going away or not, it still looked pretty bad, and it had only been a warning. 

Allison looked grim again. “You kept investigating even after this.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you let us help?” she asked. “We’re your friends, we always help you with the dumb shit you get up to, that’s what we do.”

“I know. I just didn’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

Some of the tension leaked from the room; Lemmy climbed out from under Stiles’s bed to wind around his and Derek’s ankles. 

“After you talk to this officer—you’re done, right? For real?”

“Yes.” Stiles met her gaze. “After today, we’re done.”

“Good.” She sighed and offered a smile. “See, if we’d have known you were suddenly going to be smart about this, we wouldn’t have had to stage this little intervention.”

“Or you guys could trust that I’m an adult and make my own decisions for good reasons.”

They both snorted.

“Wow. Thanks so much.” 

“You can’t blame us. You’ve been acting strange, getting into all sorts of trouble, and haven’t been around very much. We no longer trust your judgment.”

“Yeah. Usually we have to bribe you to go out as much as you have been,” Scott teased. 

“Hey, some of that was his fault.” He jerked his thumb at Derek. “He’s pretty hard to resist.”

Derek stared back at him.

Stiles sighed. “Anyway…I need to shower and get dressed before I talk to the officer.”

“Do you want us to come with you?”

He shook his head. “I’m good. Derek will be there and he’s also got things to tell them, so that works out.”

Allison stood and hugged him. “Why you feel like you have to hide stuff from us, I will never know. Please be careful. And make better choices.”

“I can only keep half of that promise,” he teased. He hugged her back and wished he knew if it were true or not when he said, “It’s all gonna be fine.”

“Good.” She leaned back. “Because I have a class I’m missing that I can still make it to.” She grabbed her bag from Stiles’s desk. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She said it like a warning. 

“Yep. Tomorrow.”

She left quickly, patting Derek’s arm on her way. 

Scott pursed his lips. “You’re really in deep, aren’t you?”

“What?” He glanced at Derek and away quickly.

“Don’t play dumb. I’ve known you longer than anyone, even Allison.” He inhaled deeply. “You’re scared and you’re—you’re not _lying_ , but you’re still hiding something.” His gaze shifted to Derek and hardened. “And you’re helping him hide it.”

“It’s for your own good,” Derek said flatly.

Stiles scowled at him; that was basically just admitting that yes they _were_ hiding something _and_ asking Scott to please keep pushing.

Scott drew up. “Oh, _really_? For my own good? So you’re doing something dangerous, just like I thought. And you’re hiding it from us because you think we can’t help you?”

“Scott, we’re going to talk to a police officer, I promise. I’m just worried…” Stiles stepped closer to him, between him and Derek. “I’m just worried that if…if the killer realizes I’ve been talking to the police, they’ll target my friends. That’s all.” 

“And what else?”

“Nothing else.” Stiles held his hand out. “I _wasn’t_ lying to Allison when I told her everything was going to be over today. After, we aren’t going to investigate any more.”

Scott clenched his jaw. He looked over at Derek, then back to Stiles, his gaze hard. He let out a breath. “I’m not going to be able to stop you either way.”

Stiles didn’t answer. Anything he said was just going to bite him in the ass.

Scott sighed. “Just be careful, okay? You aren’t an idiot, I know, but this is big. This isn’t, like, someone stole the opposing school’s team mascot. People have been killed. You almost died.”

“I know, Scott. I just have to do this one last thing, okay?”

“Yeah, I got it.” He grabbed Stiles roughly around the shoulders and hugged him tight. “Like I said. Be careful.” 

“I will, Scotty, I promise.”

Scott rocked back. “Good, then you should definitely shower. You stink like you’ve been rolling around on the floor.” He shot Derek a horrified look, then Stiles. “But don’t confirm or deny that! I’m leaving now. Don’t do anything on my bed.” He stepped toward the door. “Text me after you’re done with the cop, okay?”

“Sure. I will.”

“Okay.” Scott clearly didn’t want to leave, but he also couldn’t think of another reason to stay. It still took another five minutes to scoot him out of the dorm. 

Stiles collapsed onto the edge of his bed. “So that was, like, several new layers of _awful_.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you should be. What the hell was _that?_ Telling them about the plan!”

Derek held his hands up. “They were obviously aware you were involved somehow; telling them about Officer Hanson eased their minds.” 

“You could have warned me!” 

“It was spur of the moment. I didn’t plan on telling anyone anything. I didn’t think they’d be here.” He looked around. “You have the room protected against eavesdropping.”

He shrugged. “I took precautions a while ago. It’s possible some of them might’ve been against eavesdroppers.”

“That’s why we couldn’t hear them.”

Stiles sighed. “Fine. It was quick thinking, I guess. Just enough of the truth to throw them off the scent. Pretty good.” He grinned weakly at him. 

“I’ve been getting practice,” he said dryly. “My sisters have been all over me for weeks. Laura just thinks you’re a bad influence, and Cora thinks we’re both dorks.”

“ _I’m_ a bad influence?” Stiles gasped. “Wow. I’m actually kind of hurt. I thought Laura liked me.”

Derek grinned. “Oh, she does. She’s always thought everyone could use a little bit of trouble now and then. Though I think _this_ trouble is more than even she would want.”

“Yeah.” Stiles let Lemmy jump into his lap and stroked his ear right where he liked to be scratched the most. “So I’m going to shower and get dressed for the…is it an interrogation if it isn’t true? Or real, or whatever?”

“I don’t think so. Might call it a meeting.”

He nodded. 

Lemmy purred and pushed his face even harder against his hand, until he began scratching again. 

“What time is it?”

“Ten. We have time. What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “What isn’t?” He sighed. “Maybe I should tell Efeni the plan, just in case.”

“If you want. I think we’re okay, though.”

He snorted. “Why would you ever think that?”

“We’ve got Jack’s help.”

“Yeah, but with Efeni helping us, we’d be…pretty well set,” he said delicately. Then he frowned. “Though I’m not sure he can take the time.” 

“Why is that, by the way?” Derek sat beside him. “You never explained to me who Efeni is. A prince?”

Stiles nodded. “Demon realm is ruled by seven royals—Efeni is one of three princes. They just call them the Seven.” 

“Seven, huh? Is that where Christianity got the seven sins?” he teased.

Stiles looked down at Lemmy.

“What, really?”

“There’s no proof of that,” he said earnestly. “But it makes sense. I’ve never asked.”

Lemmy climbed from his lap to Derek’s and curled up.

“He cares about you a lot.”

He shrugged. “I’ve always thought of him like another parent.” He smiled. “My mom and dad always did, too.”

Derek nodded. “He’s been around since you were a kid, that makes sense.” He knocked their knees together gently. “I guess that’s why Jack is so worried about keeping us alive. Prince might have her head if we die on her watch.”

“Yeah.” Stiles blew out a breath. “I guess I’m lucky I have people who care enough to watch out for me.” He flicked an uncertain glance at Derek.

He returned his look with a small, private smile. “I’d do anything for you,” he said simply.

“I’d do the same for you.” Stiles was blushing. He cleared his throat. “I guess I’d better hurry up and get ready. Are you staying?”

“Yes. I think we should stay together as much as possible today.”

He nodded. “Okay. I’ll be done soon.”

“Take your time.”

He nodded again and went to get his clothes. 

Alone in the bathroom, he sat on the floor and quietly allowed his terror to consume him. They were better prepared to deal with Blake this time, but she had a full demon’s power at her disposal. She wanted to kill Derek for what he was, and Stiles because he’d meddled. Last time, she’d nearly succeeded. Even with this plan, they’d have to hold her off long enough for Matt to get close. He pressed his face against his knees. He might die today. 

He could always tell Officer Hanson everything. But she might kill Marlena and the rest of them if he did, before the police could stop her.

This way brought her to them, somewhat. At least, they hoped it would. Stiles wouldn’t forgive himself if she killed them _because_ of this, instead of using them to get to him.

“Worst case,” he muttered to himself. That would be _the worst case_ , and only if Blake decided she didn’t need or couldn’t use them. 

He stood and undressed, climbing into the shower. He was done thinking for the moment. 

Once clean and dressed, they still had an hour and twenty minutes to kill. They played with Lemmy on the floor until he got tired of them and went to lay on Scott’s desk.

“Let’s practice the chant again,” Stiles suggested, so they did. 

Derek’s phone began chiming at eleven-forty. “Ready?”

“Not really.” He twisted his fingers. “Are you sure you want to go after Matt alone? We can go together once I’m done. We can try to break the seal then, too.”

He set his hands on Stiles’s shoulders. “I’ll be fine. Can’t break the seal if she isn’t using the demon, anyway.” He kissed him, light and coaxing until he had no choice but to relax a little. “It’s going to be fine. You just focus on Officer Hanson. I’ll meet you when I’m done, that way you’ll know that it all went well.” He rubbed at his shoulders with his thumbs. 

He nodded. “Okay. That sounds good.”

“Good. Now we have to go, or you’ll be late.”

 

They’d set up the meeting with Officer Hanson at one of the picnic tables outside the cafeteria. It was just far enough away from where the lunch crowd was to give them some privacy, but in perfect view of the windows. They needed to be visible if they wanted word to get back to Blake. Stiles had no doubt that she had spies throughout the school. 

Officer Hanson was in uniform when he showed up. He looked concerned, which wasn’t surprising, given all the death. “Are you feeling okay?” he asked first, which Stiles thought was rude. 

“I’ve been better,” he replied. “I found out some stuff about the murders, and I wanted to make sure the police knew. And, well, you said you’d worked with my dad, so I guess I trust you.” 

Officer Hanson straightened with pride. “I see. Did you want to come to the station and give a statement, or-”

“I’d rather be here.” He shrugged. “Can’t be too sure who’s listening.”

He lifted a brow. “Alright.” He sat across from him at the picnic table. “Start wherever. I’ll keep notes,” he promised. He took out his phone. 

In the back of his mind, Stiles could feel Derek’s anticipation; he must’ve been stalking Matt through the hallways. A fond, warm feeling spread in his chest. He inhaled sharply and focused. “Well, at first, I was finding ghosts in places they shouldn’t have been: the library, though she didn’t know how she got there, and the dorm that had the fire. They didn’t know who summoned them or why they were here.”

“Okay…”

“That usually means someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing is opening portals,” Stiles explained. His gaze flicked to Officer Hanson’s phone and back up to his face. “You can confirm that with your department Summoner if you want.”

Hanson flushed, cleared his throat, and didn’t say anything. He typed something, though.

“Then, um.” He scratched the back of his head. “While my friend and I were looking into the attacks, someone laid curse circles for us. Uh, after pushing us out a window.”

“What?”

Stiles expanded on that at Hanson’s insistence. “And then the thing at the pool…”

He nodded. “I read your statement on that.” 

“I believe the killer has bound a demon to themselves, to make them stronger.”

Hanson studied him for a long moment. “That’s good police work for an amateur. You still put yourself and your friend in danger.” He moved his shoulders. “Our department Summoner, Detective Grant, thinks that, too.”

Stiles let out a breath. “Good. I—it’s probably—I feel like it’s someone here,” he blurted, because it looked like Hanson was about to suggest they wrap it up. “Like…a student or a-” He broke off suddenly, like he couldn’t force more words out. 

Derek said, ‘ _Pull back. Don’t tell him everything._ ’

He blew out a breath. 

“Are you alright?” Hanson asked, leaning closer. He set his phone on the table, exposing the text thread where he’d been taking “notes”.

“Ah, yeah. Just freaked out.”

“What makes you think it’s someone here?” he asked gently. 

Stiles shrugged. “Just a feeling, I guess. Plus the demon realm is…not happy. My mentor Efeni in particular is _pissed._ ”

He tapped his screen once. “Hmm.” His gaze flicked to the screen. His brows lifted. 

Stiles tipped his head. 

“Detective Grant is impressed,” he admitted, caught. “She says your mentor is a prince in the demon realm.”

Stiles tried not to smirk. “He is. He’s been watching out for me since I was a kid. He’s also been looking into this, because he’s furious about the killings and attacks.”

“Oh?” Hanson’s eyebrows furrowed. 

Before he could say anything else, someone stopped beside their table. 

Stiles looked up and blinked. “Professor Eason. Hi.”

“Hey, Stiles. I just thought I’d check in.” She glanced at Hanson, then back to him. “Everything okay?”

He tried to smile. “I’m sure it will be soon. They’re working pretty hard on this case. I had some info to pass on.” He flinched a little; Derek had used some of their magic, enough of it that he felt the tug. 

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “The kind of thing Efeni can pass along.” 

Her expression cleared. “I see. Hrashta says…” Her gaze flicked back to Hanson for a second. “That he’s been distracted lately. Angry.” 

“He doesn’t like when the Accords are broken.” Stiles smiled slightly at her.

“Hm. Alright. I hope to see you in class tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He watched her walk away. He wondered if she would wait until the end of the day to contact Hrashta or just until she was alone. He looked back at Hanson and yelped, rearing back.

Hanson grabbed his wrist and yanked him closer, almost over the table. His eyes were severely bloodshot and blank, glazed over. His face was eerily still, too empty. Like a mannequin. He opened his mouth, jaw moving slowly, and took a long, deep breath. His nose began to bleed sluggishly. “Meet me at 2108 Alexander Avenue, north of the city,” he said in a flat, robotic voice. “In Crescent Springs, at eight pm, or your friends will die. One by one.”

Stiles sucked in a shuddering breath. “Fine.” His gaze skipped around, but he couldn’t see Blake anywhere. 

Hanson squeezed his wrist so hard he could feel bones grinding against each other, but he refused to wince. “Tell him anything else and I’ll gut them.” Blood ran freely over his mouth and chin.

“Fine!”

“Eight,” he repeated. “No earlier or I fillet them.” The redness in his eyes faded; his nose stopped bleeding. He looked dazed. “Wha…” He noticed his hand on Stiles’s wrist and jerked back. “I’m so sorry, excuse me.” He frowned at the redness, or maybe the taste of blood. He touched his nose. 

“It’s okay. You should get some tissue for that, Officer. Thanks for listening,” he said.

“Are you going?” He looked lost, still coming down from whatever Blake had done to him. 

“Yeah, I’ve got a class. Plus, that’s really all I had to say.” 

“Okay,” he said slowly. “We’ll keep in touch.”

“Sure. Thanks again.” He stood and walked back toward the dorms. He wondered where the _hell_ Derek was. His phone rang. “Hey,” he said, relieved. 

“ _Where are you going?_ ” Derek hissed. 

He stiffened. “Back to my room. Blake contacted me already.”

He was quiet a beat. “ _Oh. I’m sorry._ ”

“It’s fine.”

“ _No, I should’ve been faster. But the sigil is ready. How…did it go?_ ” 

“I’ll let you know in person. It was weird,” he said. “Just weird. But I’ve got an address.”

“ _Perfect. Then we can go there as soon as I meet you._ ” 

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’ll let you hold onto that dream for a few more minutes.” He laughed mirthlessly. “See you.”

When he told him, Derek was irritated but, like Stiles, unwilling to risk her torturing his friends if they went too early. “So now we wait,” he said after filling him in.

“Yeah, looks like it.” He started pacing. 

Stiles and Lemmy just watched him. In a few hours, this would be over, one way or another.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so short but there was so much information in it that I felt like it needed to be short. x) Thank you for your comments, I hope you enjoy! Eeek, we're almost done with the LONGEST FIC I've ever finished. <3

2108 Alexander Avenue was a _graveyard_ , just outside of a small town called Crescent Springs, just like Blake said. Stiles absolutely couldn’t believe his eyes. “She’s keeping _Summoners_ in a _cemetery?_ Is she _stupid?_ ”

Derek shrugged. He looked nervous, but his emotions were mostly hidden from Stiles. There was some inexplicable guilt, or maybe shame, that Stiles couldn’t really read. “Maybe she thinks it’ll freak you out. Or be easier to clean up once she kills us,” he muttered bitterly. 

Stiles frowned at him, but he couldn’t think of how to ask what he was thinking. “Nice vote of confidence,” he said instead. “Thanks.”

He looked at him quickly. “I didn’t mean you,” he said apologetically. “You’ll do great.” He dropped his gaze. “I want to tell you-”

“Oh, are we doing _in case I die_ confessions? Because I’ll have you know, if I die, you’ll be hearing from me.”

His mouth curled, but the smirk didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure.” He sighed. “You’re just going to have to deal with the cliché movie moment, because I love you and I needed to tell you that. Just in case I don’t get a chance.” 

“Arghhhh, of course.” Stiles lunged across the seats, grabbing his face and kissing him. He poured as much as he could into the kiss, the fear, the affection, the—damn it, _yes_ —the _love_ , everything he was feeling and more. Because as typical as it was, Derek was right: they might not get another chance. He leaned away, breathing hard. “I smell salt,” he whispered. He kissed him again, gentle and lingering. 

“It’s nothing,” Derek breathed. He pulled their mouths together, cupping Stiles’s cheek.

He kissed him for another moment, but couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, something more than just waiting to confront a killer. “Are you crying?” He pulled back to see Derek’s face. 

“Of course not.” He kissed him once more and sat back. “Come on. It’s almost eight.”

Stiles climbed out. They’d brought the jeep for the space, just in case they needed it. He didn’t want to think about it, but he knew it was because someone might be hurt on the way back and need to be set in the cargo space. He studied the extra space and rubbed his face. He couldn’t help wondering if they should have just told Officer Hanson everything, all of it, and left it to the police.

But he knew they would have ended up here anyway. There was no way the police would conduct enough of an investigation to find Stiles’s friends before Blake realized they were looking for her and killed them. 

“Are you coming?” Derek stepped over to him, resting a hand on his arm. 

“Yeah.” He tilted his head up. “Do you think-” He shook his head. “Never mind. No going back now, right?” He offered a half smile.

“Right,” Derek murmured. He squeezed his arm lightly. “If I could do this for you, I would.”

“I wouldn’t want you to.” 

He shrugged. “Still.” 

“Thanks.” Stiles sighed. “I guess we have to go.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know how long I can stall her, until Matt gets here.”

“You’ll do fine.” 

The cemetery was gated, not that it would stop them. _Crescent Springs Cemetery_ curled along the front of the gate, bracketed by back to back crescent moons. 

Stiles swallowed and glanced at Derek.

He was staring into the cemetery, his gaze skimming above the headstones. He looked distracted. His jaw flexed; he mouthed something while Stiles watched. He swayed. His chin dipped toward his chest.

Stiles felt a surge of power so strong two portals ripped open behind them before he reined it in. His head snapped toward Derek. “What the…oh, no. Derek.” He grabbed his arm and shook him. “ _Derek!_ Don’t you _dare_ do this, I won’t _let_ you-!”

Derek lifted his head. He smiled. “Too late.” He rolled his neck and flexed his shoulders. “Oh, don’t be like that,” he said, noticing Stiles’s furious expression. “He wanted to help make sure you survive this.”

Stiles’s stomach twisted. “Jack?”

She smiled; it was easy to see her beneath Derek’s face, now that he knew. That was nothing like Derek’s smile. “Right in one.”

“If you don’t let him go, I swear, I will rip you out of him.” He bared his teeth and found, to his dismay and terror, that he couldn’t draw on Derek’s shifting abilities any longer. “Or I’ll get Efeni to do it.” 

“Let me tell you-”

“No! You get out of him now or it’s _over!_ ” He couldn’t feel _Derek_ anymore, either, his emotions or thoughts. Just Jack.

“Shut up and _listen_ to me,” she snapped. “Or you, your friends, and your wolf are going to die. He made a deal. There’s a contract.”

He looked away. “Doesn’t matter.” Couldn’t matter. Derek was stuck in there somewhere, a prisoner in his own mind, watching but unable to contribute. Whatever the reason, that was an experience Stiles wouldn’t wish on anyone. Being in your own body but having to watch as something _else_ took the controls? He hated the idea of Derek going through that. 

“It _matters._ ” She took a deep breath. “Listen. I’m going to tell you a story.”

“Fuck off!”

She grabbed his arm, lifting him to his toes. “Listen, you insufferable _brat._ There’s a _reason_ you feel stronger already. There’s a reason your wolf agreed to this when he _knew_ how much you would hate it.”

“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?” he spat.

She let him go. “There’s a history to Summoners that you don’t know. There’s a _lot_ of history that you don’t know, but for you specifically, this part matters.” She looked at him. “Summoners were never meant to have shifters as familiars.” 

Stiles scowled at her. “How does that make-”

“Let me finish.” She shot him a dark look. “They were built—you were built to bond with _us._ With demons.” She scoffed when he glanced involuntarily toward the cemetery. “Not unwillingly, like what that wench has done to my brother, but as equals. They were powerful pairs, nearly unstoppable, nightmares to their enemies.” She tilted her head. “Some believed they were too powerful. Some went mad with it, as people do, so before you or your mother or your mother’s mother were even a _thought_ , the governing body of witches at the time struck that little tidbit from the record.” She waved a hand. “They obliterated it and made a deal with the Seven: do not reveal this and they’ll let Summoners live.” 

“Let?” Stiles croaked. 

Jack smiled, wide and twisted. “Oh, the witches of yore thought that if Summoners were the problem, instead of striking the history, they’d simply eliminate all of the problem.” She tipped her head toward him. 

He cleared his throat. “So—so why would the Seven care? About us, I mean. I’d think we’re a little below their notice.” 

“The Seven care very much about Summoners,” she replied. 

“That isn’t an answer. Is it because we’re easy to possess? Because we can let you out?”

She studied him. “His Highness forbids me to speak of any of this.” She shrugged. “I’ve broken several laws already, I suppose, so what’s one more? Summoners are descendants of the offspring of one of the Seven and a witch. Your mother’s line is the last remaining, traceable line to Prince Efeni’s children. That is why you were able to open a portal directly to the prince when you were just a child.”

Stiles shook his head, overwhelmed. “But—we—my-” He swallowed. “Why didn’t my mother know about this?”

“All of this had been removed from public knowledge centuries ago, records of it destroyed, and a deal struck. It was the only way the Seven could be sure their descendants wouldn’t be killed needlessly. He was bound by his word not to reach out. But you called for him.” 

Stiles gulped. “So I’m…we’re all…part demon?”

“If you want to call it that,” she snickered. “I wouldn’t. You’re so many centuries removed from the direct offspring that it doesn’t _matter_. The bloodlines have spread and mixed, as they should among mortals.” She studied him. “Our best chance, with the highest rate of survival in our favor, is this. Familiar and witch, we are unstoppable.”

He looked at the tombstones he could see. “And Derek?”

“He’ll heal of any wound he receives while I’m controlling his vessel. That was already part of the deal.” She smiled at him. “I knew you wouldn’t agree unless you knew your wolf was safe, too.”

He sighed. “Alright. We have to call for Matt, or this whole thing is a bust.” Anxiety seized him, at odds with Jack’s unflappable calm. “Derek was supposed to-”

“I have it memorized. Who do you think gave him the idea?”

Stiles cringed. “Have you been-”

“Just tagging along. Derek had the controls, so to speak, until we get here.” She shrugged. “He knew you’d be infuriated.” 

“Damn right,” he muttered.

“But don’t worry. All the affection you shared was just you two. I don’t have a taste for human physical expressions of affection.” She grinned suddenly. “Blake is here. Let’s show her what you’re really capable of.”

Stiles nodded. He started the chant, focusing his gaze on the headstones, his mind on the scene Jack was painting in his mind.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!!! I like this chapter, :D I'm ready for this whole fic to be up honestly.

Blake was deep in the cemetery, by a mausoleum that read _Lox_ on the top, made of heavy-looking deep brown and black marble with short black pillars in front. There was a portal open at her back, red and green and yellow.

Stiles looked down at the graves they were passing. “I—this plan…” His gaze locked on Samuel Novak’s headstone as they walked around it. 

Jack looked at him. “What about it?”

“I don’t feel great about it.” He looked at the next stone marker. “Disturbing Terrance Grouper.”

“Oh. That.” She waved a hand. “The ghosts won’t be disturbed. They won’t even know. They’re no longer attached to the vessels lying moldering underground.”

Stiles inhaled and flexed his fingers. “Okay.”

“We only have to hold her off long enough for Matt to get here.” Jack tipped her head and grinned. 

“Is there a spell?”

“No spell. Tell them to get up. I’ll open the vaults.”

“What vaults?”

She sighed. “The _burial_ vaults. Chae, you call yourself a Summoner. They don’t just bury caskets. You focus on the bodies. Take a breath, let yourself _feel_ where we are.”

“A graveyard,” he muttered. 

“Surrounded by the dead,” she said agreeably. 

Stiles swallowed and stared ahead. “Alright.” He pulled at his power, at the surge of Jack’s power feeding into his own. He could feel it, spreading over the graves, digging down below and pulling at the resting corpses beneath. 

The ground rumbled beneath their feet. 

Blake looked alarmed, head whipping to the side as the grass split around her. 

“Her name is Jennifer,” Jack intoned. “Call her that.”

“I don’t care.” He dug his fingers into his leg and tugged.

Sharp _cracks_ resounded over the graves as the earth split open, fissures running to each grave from him. He could smell Blake’s fear, could almost taste it with Jack’s demonic senses. 

“Stop!” Blake ordered. “Stop or I’ll kill you!” Her voice shook. 

Stiles heard the ominous scrape and rasp of stone sliding open grudgingly after being settled for so long. The ground trembled and split as bodies climbed free of their graves. 

Blake saw one close to her clawing its way out and screamed. She seethed, “ _Stop them!_ ” 

Demi-demons flooded out of the portal behind her. 

Stiles fell back a step instinctively; something bumped into his shoulder. He gasped and nearly gagged; the smell of decay was unbearable. 

Hundreds of the dead had risen at his command, forming a barrier around them. 

He looked at Blake. The dead advanced toward her, responding to his wishes rather than his actual thoughts or words. He could feel his magic feeding into them, powering them like lifelines, but he didn’t feel weaker for it; he felt stronger. Unstoppable. 

Most of the bodies were decomposed enough that they barely looked like people. Some looked devastatingly new. Others were mostly bones and ragged, leathery bits of skin.

The demi-demons scurried toward them chittering and clacking their jaws. 

“Now what?” Stiles demanded, looking at Jack.

“You make sure they follow your orders. I’m-” She cut off.

Beside Blake was a full demon, eight feet tall at least, clicking its teeth and claws threateningly. It looked enraged but absolutely still, under her control like a dog on a leash. 

“Can’t break the bond if the seal is still in place,” Stiles warned. 

Jack nodded and turned her attention to the demi-demons. 

Maros launched at them, hissing. A tail arched behind him, lashing out.

Jack yelped; blood spread on her—and _Derek’s_ —shoulder.

Stiles flung a hand out; a shield surrounded Jack.

Maros turned on him, baring all of his teeth.

Stiles stepped back, hands up. “I know you’re not in control, and I know you can hear me.” He leaped back as Maros swiped. “I know what it’s like, having to watch as your body does horrible things that you didn’t want to do.” He ducked again; one of the risen dead leaped on Maros’s arm, keeping it from swiping at Stiles. “She’s _nothing_ ,” he said. “The bond will be broken soon—just don’t let her make you kill us.” 

Another roar. Maros arched his tail.

Stiles covered his head. 

Nothing.

He looked up.

Maros was frozen. His tail trembled. He was fighting Blake’s control. 

Stiles bolted out of his path. He flicked his wrist. A wave of the dead converged on him; the rest were advancing from every direction on Blake.

She was protected by a circle of demi-demons. She was so pale she glowed, surrounded by the decaying dead. 

Stiles ran toward her. Something sank into his calf, sharp teeth digging through his jeans to his skin. He yelped and kicked out.

The demi-demon clung on.

Stiles drew on his magic and _pushed._

It exploded into white dust.

“Whoa.” He was bleeding, but he didn’t have time to check how badly; six other demi-demons surrounded him.

“Oooh, we know what Jack did,” they chittered. “We’re telling, we’re telling! Srepa won’t be happy, she’ll punish Jack!” 

Stiles threw both his hands out, thinking _fire_ —and more white dust glittered in the air. 

Maros roared.

Stiles slammed into the ground; it felt like three hundred pounds had tackled him. He turned his head.

“Keep your face down,” Jack snarled, shoving his head. 

Fire blazed above them, crashing like a liquid over the shield she’d thrown around them. 

Stiles dug his fingers into the grass.

The ground shook in response.

Something tore wetly; Blake screamed in rage. 

Maros howled so loud Stiles’s ears throbbed.

Jack flinched. “Matt is nearly here. I’ll handle my brother, you focus on the seal and the bond.” She traced a ward on the side of his neck.

He hissed as it burned into his skin. “Why?”

She smiled and rolled off of him.

He braced himself. Took a breath. Leaped up.

Demi-demons clawed at his legs; one climbed up his clothes and latched on his face before he could stop it. It screamed in agony and tumbled off of him. Its claws were burning red and melting like wax as he watched. 

He cupped a hand over the ward on his neck. He forgave Jack for burning him.

Twenty of the risen surrounded him like a walking shield, waiting and utterly silent. 

Stiles went for Blake. 

She saw him coming and lifted her hands, then slammed them down.

White fire cut through the grass, creating a barrier.

The dead walked through the flames like they didn’t even know they were there.

Stiles hesitated at the edge. 

Demi-demons surrounded Blake, tugging on her pant legs, pulling on her hands, and chattering for attention.

Something slammed into his back. He tumbled through the flames and landed, miraculously unscathed, in the circle with Blake. The ward on his neck burned briefly and settled. Claws raked his cheek; his eyes watered.

The demi-demon yowled as the ward burned it. 

He looked up at Blake.

“I’m not afraid of your little puppets,” she spat. “A pathetic, useless display of the weak.”

“Where are my friends?” He stood and wiped blood off his jaw. The scratches stung and throbbed. He could only imagine what kind of infection he’d get from demi-demon bacteria. 

“Look around,” she scoffed. “They’ll be dead before you find them.”

His heart slammed against his ribs. “You’re lying.”

“Oh, _am_ I? Why would I care about a handful of Summoners? Disgusting mutants.”

“Why are you doing this?” he demanded. “What’s the point?”

“They should be _punished!_ ” she screamed. “No matter _what_ , we’re the ones who suffer! They die, we die! They use our magic and take it away and they _leave us with nothing!_ ” She lunged at him; her nails scratched across his eye and cheek.

He shoved her away, palms to her chest. 

“You don’t _know!_ I showed you but you don’t _know!_ It hurts _everyday!_ ” She sobbed as two of the dead dragged her away from him.

Stiles hated that he felt sympathy for her. He couldn’t fathom living with that soul-crushing agony all the time, having to pretend everything was fine… “Why not break the bond? She’s gone. You don’t have to stay bound.”

Her sobs stopped abruptly. “No! Kali is coming back! She’s going to come back, and we’ll be happy!” She fought against the people holding her, but their grips were unbreakable, unencumbered by sympathy or pain. 

Something moved near the fence over Blake’s shoulder. 

Stiles was running before he fully understood what he’d seen; he just had to catch up.

He and Matt collided with a heavy _thud_ , hitting the ground in a tangle of limbs.

Matt cocked his arm back and swung.

Stiles’s head whipped aside with the force, the dizzying, hot pain. He clenched his hands in Matt’s shirt, holding tight when he tried to get up. 

He reared back to punch again.

Stiles rocked as hard as he could, twisting so he was on top. His head throbbed, but he braced a hand against Matt’s chest. His magic seized at him; he could feel the seal now, like a magical padlock near Matt’s depleted, dying magic. “Why are you helping her?” he demanded, unable to stop himself. “You’re _dying._ ” 

“I can have whatever I _want_ with this power!” Matt wheezed. Blood frothed at the edges of his mouth. “No fucking shifter needed!” He grinned, wide and deranged. “I don’t have to share with anyone. I’ll—I’ll be stronger than…” His gaze roamed as he became distracted. He went limp.

Stiles dug the tips of his fingers down; Matt didn’t seem to notice. Stiles closed his eyes. 

The seal was heavy-duty magic, the likes of which Stiles had never seen. Layered with poisonous protective curses, tucked so close to Matt’s soul it was almost impossible to get to. 

Stiles reached with his magic, pulling at the curses like threads, like he was untangling a knot. The seal flashed in front of his eyes, bright white, twisting, spiny lines and sharp angles. He hooked his magic through the center and pulled. 

The _snick_ of the seal breaking echoed through the graveyard. 

Jack howled triumphantly.

Blake screamed in rage. 

White fire blazed straight toward Stiles. 

He swore and rolled out of its path, dragging Matt with him.

Several bodies pried them apart when they stopped. They held onto Matt and helped Stiles to his feet. 

Matt sat complacently at their feet, limp as a doll. 

“Damn it. Don’t let him die,” Stiles ordered. He wiped his face, smearing blood, and went for Blake next. “Where are my friends?”

She was hunched over, teeth bared. 

“Where are they?”

She spat at him.

He sighed and flexed his hands. “I’ve never done this before. I’ve heard it hurts.” There were apparently many things he didn’t know about Summoners, but he did know this: they were the ones to break bonds involving demons. In history class, it had been touted as a surprising and pleasant gift, something Summoners could do for a society that regarded them largely as other and outside. Now Stiles knew that was skewed; they could break unwilling demonic bonds because they were meant to have willing ones, not because they owed their abilities to helping whoever got themselves into trouble with demonic forces. 

Blake twisted and thrashed, but three of the risen were holding her in place. 

Stiles approached. He could see the chains of the binding stretching out from her aura. If he looked, he’d see them lead to Maros. 

The bond was a little like the seal; draining and twisted, wrapped up tightly in scribbled words. 

Stiles uttered, “ _Show me,_ ” and the binding scrawled its way across Blake’s skin.

She screamed as it moved, lines and lines of dark spell work scratching from her shoulders, down her arms, to her hands. They glowed icy white.

Stiles met her gaze.

“Fine,” she spat. “Kill me!”

“I won’t.” He looked at the chains. His orange-gold-black magic wound around the binding chains, smothering them. He reached for Blake. 

She shrank back.

It didn’t matter. He only needed her aura. His gaze skipped over each line of spell work. It wrapped around her fingers like rings, across the backs of her hands and all over her palms. He grabbed her right hand in his, palm to palm, and latched his fingers through hers. 

She yanked at her arm wildly. 

He squeezed. He stared into her eyes. He said, “ _Finis._ ” 

The chains crumbled around them. One by one, the lines of spells faded, winking out like busted bulbs. 

Blake pulled on her arm harder than ever, wailing and screaming.

Stiles and the dead held her in place. 

The portal shrank behind her, then closed.

The demi-demons shrieked with excitement. 

The tether tying Maros to Blake snapped like an overstretched rubber band. Her legs gave out; only the dead kept her from falling to the ground. 

Something brushed against Stiles’s leg. He looked down and recoiled. 

The demi-demons were swarming, tearing at Blake until blood started spattering the broken ground.

Stiles flicked his fingers. Magic surged. They exploded. 

Blake lifted her head. Her hand flexed around Stiles’s. “Your friends are probably dead,” she laughed. 

He let go of her. “I felt sorry for you for about a minute.” 

She kept laughing.

Stiles stepped back and looked around, feeling lost. He couldn’t force her to tell him where they were. Even torture wasn’t going to answer anything. Not if she was being blocked off from her magic. What could they do compared to that? 

Something flew past him.

Maros moved with speed beyond human comprehension; he’d shoved Stiles away and ripped Blake’s heart out of her chest before Stiles really understood he was there. 

Blood splattered.

Blake’s throat made some odd gurgle. 

Stiles lurched forward. “No! She knew where my friends were!” He shoved Maros as hard as he could; to his endless shock, he flew several feet away. Stiles froze, looking at his own hands.

Maros picked himself up. He couldn’t make expressions the way humans could, but if Stiles had to guess, he’d say Maros wasn’t happy. He strode to Stiles. 

Stiles braced. 

Maros stopped three feet from him; he lifted a hand and gestured. “Your friends are in the mausoleum.”

His heart dropped. “D-dead?” His stomach seized. He was too late. 

“No. She left demis and imps in with them. Told them to devour.” Maros tipped his head toward Stiles. “You’re the prince’s boy.”

“Yes.” 

“Stiles!”

He turned and gasped. 

Allison, Cora, and Scott were running toward him, side stepping open graves. Allison had a long pipe, Scott had Stiles’s old bat, and Cora was partially shifted, wiping parts of a demi-demon off her claws. 

“Wha—what?”

“We followed you.”

“How?!”

Cora jerked her thumb over her shoulder. 

Erica and Boyd were weaving through the dead, who were waiting for Stiles’s next command. “Took us a little while, so we’re late. Blake was blocking my visions _really_ well, but it wasn’t covering you or Derek.” Boyd peered at one of the bodies standing near him. “These are on our side, right?”

“Right.” Stiles shook his head. “How’d you guys see the demi-demons?”

“We did a spell.” Allison looked smug. “I looked it up when you started acting strange, just in case you needed some help. Which you would have known, if you’d have actually _asked_ for help.” 

Stiles shook his head again. “I—Marlena and the others might be hurt.”

“I’ll go with you.” Scott nodded sharply. He looked at Blake, then away. 

Stiles ran for the mausoleum. 

The door opened easily enough; the smell was closed in and musty, but not unbearable. 

Something swung at his head.

“Wait!” someone yelled.

He looked up.

Marlena dropped the bottle she’d been about to hit him with. Breathing hard, bloody and disheveled, she looked nearly unrecognizable. She threw herself at him. 

“Yes!” Tessa cheered from somewhere further in. “I knew someone was coming!”

“How’d you find us?” Emory asked.

Marlena loosened her grip, sniffling.

“The demon Blake was using told me where you were. Are you guys okay? Anyone need healing?”

Scott stepped around him then, so he could assist.

They all looked a little worse for wear, but there were cut ropes all over the floor and bludgeoned imps scattered throughout. 

“How’d you guys get untied?”

“Me.” Arlene grinned. “What? I always keep a folding knife in my shoe. Woulda gotten free earlier if she hadn’t tied me to Gus.” 

“I did my best, it isn’t my fault you’re so short!” 

“I’ve got this covered,” Scott murmured. “If you want to go up.”

“I just need to find J—Derek.” He squeezed Marlena’s arm briefly and went back outside. 

Derek and Maros were talking. _Jack_ and Maros. 

“How do I stop them?” Stiles asked, gesturing at the zombies. 

Jack turned around. “Oh, right. Go back to bed!” she ordered. 

The dead all began moving, heading back to their graves.

“That’s convenient,” he muttered.

Jack offered half a smile.

Boyd stepped up beside Stiles. “You know that isn’t Derek, right?”

“Yeah,” he rasped. He cleared his throat. “Yes, I know. He made a deal.”

“Looks like he’s hurt.”

He could see the blood, too, the scratches and bite marks. It looked like a couple of his fingers were broken, too. “She’ll heal him.”

“If you say so.”

“Jack, what do we do about the ground?”

She hummed. “I’ll close the vaults. I believe our combined power should be enough to put everything to rights.”

“And then you let Derek go.”

“And then I let Derek go.” She smirked. 

By the time they’d cleaned up the disturbed graves, Stiles was trembling with exhaustion, and Scott had finished healing Marlena and the others. 

“Hey, give me that rope,” Allison called. She and Cora were standing by Matt, who was unconscious.

Scott and Gus went to help her.

Stiles looked around. “How do we tell the police?” he asked no one in particular. 

Marlena grabbed his arm. “We’ll tell them that Blake kidnapped us, and you came to help. When you broke her hold on the demon, it killed her.” 

“Which is a highly edited but technically true version of the story,” Emory said. “We’ll all go with you.”

He looked over at Jack. “Well?”

“Sounds good to me. Her soul will have to pay for her crimes, but that isn’t my jurisdiction.” She rolled her shoulders; the cuts and bruises healed as they watched. “But we’ve got our own crimes to pay for.” She flexed the fingers until the bones snapped into place. 

“I could talk to Efeni,” he offered. “You were helping me.”

“He knows. He’ll decide with or without you.” She smiled. “Here’s your wolf back.” She muttered something. Derek pitched forward.

Stiles caught him. The huge power boost faded back to what it was; he could feel Derek’s fear and exhaustion. His senses opened up again. The graveyard smelled _awful_. He could barely hold Derek and himself up.

“So, portal?” Jack stood separate from Derek now, beside Maros. She was bigger than he was, with two more tails and way more teeth.

“Yes.” Stiles opened it easily, directly behind them. 

Derek nuzzled under his chin as he came awake. 

“Thank you,” Maros said unexpectedly. “I’d never killed before. She made me a murderer. Thank you for freeing me.”

“You’re welcome. Thank you for not killing me.”

They went through the portal one at a time.

Stiles closed it behind them.

Derek straightened up. “Is it over?” he asked warily. 

“Yeah. Sort of. Police are next. I’m mad at you, a little bit.” 

“Okay.” 

“We have a plan for the police,” Erica announced. “We think it’ll work out. We came in separate cars.”

“What’s the plan?”

Cora had Matt over her shoulders fireman style. “Go to the police department, tell them what Marlena said we should tell them, hopefully be home by morning.” 

Stiles looked at Derek. “Sounds good to me.”

“Me too.”

He nodded. “Okay then.” He inhaled. “Police station it is.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments! Here's the last chapter! I hope it wraps everything up well for you guys! <3 Let me know what you think!

Between getting everyone loaded up in the vehicles, arguing about what to do about Blake’s body, and giving their collective statements to the police, the group didn’t get back to campus until noon the next day.

Stiles was bone tired. Apparently raising the dead and freeing a demon took a lot out of a guy. 

The police had kept Matt in custody, though he’d been taken to a hospital to recuperate. 

“Oh, man,” Scott muttered. He was driving the jeep so Stiles didn’t have to.

He and Derek were curled up in the backseat. They hadn’t had a chance yet to talk about what’d happened—before, during, and after Jack’s possession—but they would need to soon.

Stiles got up the energy to ask, “What? What else could be wrong?”

Derek snorted.

“Uh, you should probably look yourself.” Scott pulled carefully into a parking spot.

“Why so far from the dorm?” Stiles whined. “I don’t want to-”

“Stiles, _look_.”

He leaned forward, and felt his jaw drop. “Oh. Crap,” he said weakly.

In the yard in front of the head office, parked haphazardly, was a still-running _Beacon County Sheriff’s Department_ cruiser. 

The sheriff himself was beside it, apparently having stern words with campus security. 

“Oh, jeeze.” Stiles took a breath. “Okay. I better go assure him I still have all my limbs. Scott, if I were you, I’d make myself scarce until he’s distracted.” He noticed Derek shrink into his seat. “Hahaha, no. You, you have to come with.”

He scowled. “Why?”

“So my dad can meet my boyfriend.” Stiles shrugged. 

Derek’s expression didn’t change, but inside, he’d lit up. “Fine,” he muttered. 

“Good luck, bro,” Scott whispered. “See you later…maybe.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. 

John saw Stiles and ran. He caught him up in a sweeping hug, squeezing all of the air out of him.

“Hey, Dad,” he wheezed. “I’m fine.”

“There’s blood all over you, you have bandages on your face,” he mumbled against his shoulder.

“Yeah, but the police patched it up for me.” The cuts on his face were bandaged as well as they could be, but he knew he looked pretty gruesome. Stupid demi-demon claws. “I’m okay,” he said again.

John reared back, holding Stiles by the shoulders. “Perfect. Then you’re fit to tell me what the _hell_ you were thinking, going after a murderer by yourself?!”

“How, uh, how did you-”

A portal opened suddenly, just behind John. Claudia muttered a spell and stepped out.

Stiles cringed. This was…very bad. “Hi, Mom,” he mumbled.

“Stiles.” Her gaze flicked to Derek, who was gaping. “Stiles’s familiar. Your name?”

“Stiles’s _what?!_ ” 

Derek swallowed audibly. “Hello,” he muttered. “I’m Derek.”

“I see.” Claudia looked back at Stiles. She was translucent in the midday sun; she looked as beautiful and furious as she had when she’d caught Stiles breaking the rules when she’d been alive. 

“I, um. I can explain. Really.”

Derek tried to sidle away, but Stiles caught his arm. 

“Start with the bond,” Claudia said. “Who did it? How do you know they did it right? You could have died, you could’ve ended up with a malformed bond and damaged you both!” 

“I know! But no one else was finding any answers! I got shoved into a pool and almost drowned, she knew who I was, we had to do something!”

“Like go to the police,” John snapped. “That’s what they’re there for! You should have gone right to the police and filed a report, and _stayed out of it!_ ”

“I couldn’t just stand there!” Stiles crossed his arms. “You always taught me not to just be a by-stander to bad things!”

Derek made a sound like, “Ahhh,” like he’d just understood something.

Stiles wanted to kick him.

“That was for bullying and discrimination and—not _murders!_ You aren’t a cop and you are certainly old enough to know the difference between when it’s time to stand up and jump in and when you should leave it up to the professionals!”

Stiles grimaced. Nothing he said right here was going to stop them. “Okay.”

“This is a completely new level of _what the hell did you think you were doing_ , even for you. I don’t even know how to properly scold you!” 

“I do,” John said grimly. He muttered a long string of Latin, so fast Stiles almost didn’t understand.

Almost.

He groaned.

A demonic portal opened. Efeni peered out. “Hello, Claudia, John.”

“He knew about it,” Stiles said. _So there._

Derek choked back a laugh.

“Oh, yes, I’m aware. Efeni and I had a little chat. Of course, his movements _were_ restricted by the Accords, so I can’t blame him. I’m blaming _you_.” 

“Gee, thanks. I’ll have you all know, Derek and I just saved the day.”

Claudia’s eyes flashed.

Stiles closed his mouth.

“Mr. and Mrs. Stilinski, um, Prince Efeni, we really didn’t have much of a choice,” Derek said hesitantly. “She absolutely knew who we were and was targeting us because of it. She even kidnapped Stiles’s friends-”

“ _What?!_ ” the three of them shouted. 

Stiles sat down in the grass. “I’ve been up all night, I fought a killer, and raised the dead, and I’m _tired_. So I’m sitting down.”

“You raised…” Claudia shot Derek an appraising look.

Efeni didn’t look nearly as impressed. “Jack, I presume.”

“Yeah.” Stiles tugged Derek down beside him. “You guys can be as mad as you want. I get it was stupid, but by the time we realized how stupid, it was too late.” He slumped against Derek’s side. “Also, Derek is my boyfriend and I’m in love with him. Like, stupid in love.” He paused and looked at Derek. “I forgot to tell you that last night. I love you.”

He looked mortified. “I love you, too,” he muttered, trying to hide from Stiles’s parents’ gazes.

“Ugh, I can’t be mad at the pair of them, they’re cute.” Claudia sighed and set her hand on Stiles’s head.

He could just barely feel it, a spot of cold weight. He leaned into it.

“They could’ve died.” John set his hands on his hips. “Okay, since you two won’t be the disciplinarians, I will.” He shook his head at both Claudia and Efeni.

Neither looked guilty.

“Here’s what’s going to happen: I’m taking you both to your rooms, you are going to sleep, and then eat, and probably sleep some more. Stiles, you’re coming home. Your professors have agreed that you can submit all remaining work over the internet.”

“Dad-”

“For a month,” John continued. “You can come back for midterms, and for next semester.” 

“Dad, seriously, I’m…fine.”

“Oh, no. And you—I highly suggest you come with us, too,” he said to Derek.

“Um.”

“You skipped pre-bonding. Since I’m choosing not to report you for that, you’re going through the proper steps. Even if they are backwards.”

“Okay,” Derek mumbled. 

Stiles snorted.

“Lighten up, John, it’s not like we never did anything dangerous.” Claudia grinned.

“Stiles, Jack informed me that she told you some history. I believe we should begin your lessons again,” Efeni told him. 

“Oh, joy. Sounds like a blast.”

Derek snickered. 

Stiles knew he should’ve been more upset, or maybe happy or mad that his parents—all three of them, apparently—were here, lecturing him, but the murderer was stopped. Matt was being taken care of; no one else had died. He had his dad here, his mother, Efeni, and Derek, and he was exhausted. 

So he would let the three of them get it out of their systems, while enjoying the sunlight and snuggling up to Derek.   
 

 

**January**

Stiles jumped out of the jeep, surveying the parking lot. “Well, nothing here has changed at all.”

Derek rounded the hood and flicked his ear. “It’s only been two months.”

“Two and a _half,_ ” he corrected meticulously. “Two months of pre-bonding and history lessons and being _watched_.” He grinned at him. “Do you have the paperwork?”

“What paperwork?”

His heart dropped for a split second, before he felt Derek’s amusement. He punched his shoulder. “That wasn’t funny! I thought you forgot it! Oh, keep laughing,” he scoffed. “You’d have been the one sleeping alone, you jerk.” 

“Are you kidding? Your dad practically stapled it to my shirt before we left.” 

Stiles pulled the papers out of Derek’s back pocket. He smoothed it out against Derek’s chest, skimming over it. It was signed and authorized by Sheriff Stilinski, stating that they were _legally_ bonded, by a professional who had done the pre-bonding requirements first, and that they would be allowed to share a dorm and classes now that they were familiar and witch. “He just wanted to make sure we weren’t going to get in trouble.”

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Stiles folded the papers back up and put them in his hoodie pocket for safe-keeping. He shook his shoulders. “I’m not ready for classes to start up again,” he complained. “It was like we didn’t even get a break. I feel like we spent every day studying. History with Efeni, pre-bonding requirements for Morell, we didn’t do anything fun!”

Derek lifted a brow.

Stiles grinned reluctantly. “Well, I guess we did do _some_ fun things, but—we didn’t go anywhere.”

“It wasn’t all bad,” he said. He set his hands on Stiles’s hips and pulled him closer. He kissed him, three lingering presses until they were breathing hard and gripping at each other. 

“True,” Stiles said, pulling back. He licked his bottom lip and grinned. “I, for one, really enjoyed your family visiting for solstice dinner.” 

Derek recoiled. “Oh my god.” He covered his face. “I’m so sorry about Cora…again.”

He shrugged, still grinning. “Eh, that’s okay, Mom thought it was hilarious. She hated that lamp.” He smirked and nipped Derek’s chin. “Lamp-breakage must run in your family.”

Derek shoved him away. “I can’t believe you told them,” he seethed. 

“ _I_ can’t believe your mother didn’t believe me!” He laughed, nearly doubling over. “She thought Cora had put me up to it as a joke! Dude, my dad would _never_ buy that even if I actually tried it.” 

“Your dad liked that lamp, though,” he said, changing the subject. “I feel bad.”

Stiles squinted at him. “Are you sure you didn’t break it?”

“I didn’t break it!” 

Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s waist. “I’m just kidding, I know you didn’t. You’d have just ran away. You’re terrified of my dad.”

“That’s not true!” Derek leaned against him anyway. 

“You’re more afraid of him than you are of Efeni.”

“I—okay, that’s true.” He tucked his face into the crook of Stiles’s neck. “I’m not going to lie, I’m glad we’re not in your dad’s house anymore. Made things a little awkward.”

“Yeah,” Stiles snorted. “You’re kind of loud.”

“Me!” 

He laughed and kissed his cheek. “Okay, okay. Me, too.” He sighed. “I like your family.” He smiled at him.

Derek smiled helplessly back. “I like yours. Even though all three of your parents are terrifying in their own ways.”

Stiles stuck his tongue out at him. “I guess we better start getting our stuff inside our new dorm.” 

“I, for one, am excited to start our new classes.”

Stiles looked at the dorm building. They were in the same building as Boyd and Erica, thankfully. “I am, too.” He looked around and took a breath. “No murders this semester,” he said. 

“Here’s hoping,” he replied. He nudged Stiles’s face up and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is still the longest fic I've posted yet. I mean, Human Monsters as a whole was long, but those were 3 separate fics. This...was a beast lmao. I hope it's good anyway. <3 My next project is already in the works, if I could just shake this gross cold. ;-;


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